Page 44 of Totally Geeked

“I get it. Okay, we’ll order in, but I’m serious about my dinner. The day after the cast comes off, my place, for the best meal you’ve ever eaten.”

He reaches across the roof of his truck with one arm for me to shake his hand.

“Deal,” he says, and we climb in and drive home in silence, his words replaying in my mind the whole way. How could I have been so stupid to not see that all this was because he was scared?

“Did you get some good sketches?” Gordon asks as we pull into the garage, and I smile at the old Buick sitting there.

“Heaps, but I think I’ll need some more specific ones to line up with the story. Do you think Harrison would be up for a modeling session? He’s already doing so much, what with the readings and all.”

“I think he’d love that. If you haven’t noticed, Harry likes being the center of attention. Maybe tell him in advance that it’snot one of those nude drawing classes or you might get to see a lot more of him than you want to.”

My mind instantly pictures him naked, posing for me, and I bite my lower lip.

“Don’t!” Gordon warns.

“Don’t what?”

“I saw that look.”

“What look?” I ask, turning away for fear my face would give me away further.

“Seriously, Arlo. Harry isn’t a guy to crush on. He says he’s over the whole hookup scene, but he’s said that before. I don’t want you becoming another one of his one-night stands.”

Little does he know we’ve already had more than one night together. But what if he’s right? What if this is just another phase, and he gets sick of me and goes right back to whatever he was doing, or whoever he was doing before? My stomach churns at the thought.

“You’ve got nothing to worry about. He’s a good-looking guy, that’s all that was,” I say, but Gordon’s raised brow and upturned smirk tell me he doesn’t quite believe me.

I’ve got to get better at lying if we’re going to pull this off.

Chapter seventeen

Harrison

Arlo and I havegotten good at sneaking around the past couple of weeks. He’s got one reading left at a small children's shop, and though he says he’s fine if I don’t go, and I know he means it, I want to be there. I’ve been to all of them so far and I don’t want to miss out on this last one. But it’s game day and the coaches have given strict instructions to stay in and rest before the festivities kick off around lunchtime at the field.

After last season’s introduction tour and the daily articles and posts online, we’ve become small celebrities in Savannah, and at the last two readings, we had a bunch of kids dressed in Banana Ball gear. True they were the OG team’s but it was still cool. If I get caught by the coaches out and about, I’m not sure what they’d do. Would they bench me for game one? We have other catchers, none as good as me, but if they want to make a point about us following the rules, they might.

It’s almost nine thirty, the reading is at ten, and it’s only a few blocks from the stadium, I can make it.

I throw my Animal Control outfit into a bag in the back and grab a plain black cap and shades. It should be enough to hide me. Real celebrities do this shit all the time, and it’s only about half the time they get spotted, right?

I get there just as Arlo is getting out of the cab. Both Gordon and I offered to at least drop him, but he insisted a cab was fine. I slink down in the truck as he stands on the sidewalk, watching the people walking into the small shop. His hands clench his original copy of his book against his front. It became sort of a superstition for him that reading from his first copy helped it go well. He had always said in the past, too, that having me there was what helped the most. That’s why I have to be here now. But maybe he wants to prove he can do it too. I know he can. I know he’s got this. He doesn’t need me there sitting like a big goofball with the kids, smiling up at him.

I’m being selfish showing up like this. I have to let him do this for himself. It’s what he wants. But I don’t want to miss it either. I’ll wait until he’s in, then sneak in the back.

Arlo takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling slowly, and then he marches like he’s demanding each step forward into the shop.

I climb out of the truck and follow him inside, hunching over, keeping my head down and glasses on. I slide behind a few of the parents already crowded in the back. I’m still a good foot taller than most of them though, so I crouch a little more, leaning on the wall to not have all the strain on my knees. They’ll have enough work cut out for them today at the game.

Arlo is led to the chair at the front by what I’m assuming is the shop owner, and as he sits and glances across the children waiting, his smile is so small that it sends a pang through my chest.Come on, you got this.I try to project my confidence through the air to him, but it clearly isn’t working. The fingers of his casted hand are white as he grips the edge tightly, waitingas the owner introduces him. This is it. He can do this. It’s just like every other time. Except it’s not. I’m not there, or at least he can’t see me. And as his eyes settle on the back of the group of children, I know for sure that’s what he’s thinking, too.

He holds the book up in front of him, hands shaking, and reads the title, his voice shaky, unsure.

“Sorry, I’m a little nervous,” he says, and the crowd mostly smiles. One parent telling himit’s okay,as a way to try to reassure him. I want to jump up and tell him he is brilliant and he’s got this. I want to be sitting on the floor at the back of the children, smiling up at him as he reads the story that brought us together, but there are people with their phones out recording, and if I’m spotted, I’ll get in so much shit from the coaches. Plus, he told me he wanted to do this. If he wants to prove to himself he can do it, I shouldn’t take that away from him.

He tries to start the first page, and though he’s read the line probably a hundred times or more, he skips a word and muddles up the sentence before stuttering his way through it again. His cheeks are on fire, and he shakes his head, apologizing again as his glasses slip down his nose.

I look at the people with their phones out again, then back at Arlo. I can’t just stand here hiding in the back, pretending I’m not here. I am here. I am here for him, to support him. I might not be able to sit on the floor with the kids, but I can sure as hell let him know he’s not alone in this.

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