Page 42 of Totally Geeked

“Seriously, dude,” I complain, shrugging out from under his hand to face him. “I told you I wasn’t interested in dating a player.”

He nods. “That’s what I told him, but he insisted on asking you out himself. I was going to warn you, but it was kind of fun watching you say no to someone. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it. How did it feel? Are you okay? Do you need a hug?”

I laugh and shove him. “You asshole. I’ve said no to a guy before.”

His eyebrows rise. “When?”

“Junior year, that guy in our dorm who smelled like cheese.”

His nose scrunches up, and I know he remembers the guy I’m talking about, then he looks past me to his brother.

“Hey, Arlo. Come get some sketches of the real players.” He laughs, then runs away before I can shove him again.

Chapter sixteen

Arlo

The smell of pinetar tickles my nose as I try to focus on getting into my sketches. But it’s harder than I thought to sketch the teams with Harrison right there in front of me. The next book is featuring him, so it’s not like if Gordon saw them, it will be hard to explain why there are so many of Harrison. But what would be hard to explain is that in a few, my mind wandered, and they kind of became more rough sketches for naughty art. I quickly rip out those pages and slip them into the back of the sketchbook to move later and start on a new sketch, this one of Benny practicing his pitches. It always surprises me how versatile some of the players can be. I can hardly walk straight without tripping over my own feet, and yet they can play multiple positions, pitching, hitting, and catching, and half the time they even do it all while flipping through the air.

Hollering starts to echo from the corridor leading out to the field from under the stands.

“Woot, woo, wooooooo,” the original players of Banana Ball cheer, rushing the field in full uniform, flipping and cartwheeling onto the pitch.

The Funky Monkeys and Animal Control players stop everything and watch.

“OG are in the house,” Taylor Blackstone, pitcher and basically frontman for the whole league, announces. His long messy blond curls bounce with each backflip he does toward the pitcher's mound.

“Ready for us to show you baby ballers how it’s done?” he asks, and that gets him a few sharp looks.

Harrison just laughs.

“Pretty sure our tour matched your numbers last year, Taylor, but you go on thinking you're teaching us.”

My heart races as Taylor walks slowly toward Harrison, his eyes slightly squinted, jaw clenched tight. He wouldn’t hit him, would he?

Harrison folds his arms over his chest and pops out one hip as he waits, and my gaze keeps moving back and forth between them, as does everyone’s. Gordon shifts like he’s going to intervene as Taylor steps right up into Harrison’s face. They stare each other down, Harrison is only a few inches taller, so they are practically nose to nose, and my heart is racing faster with every second that passes, the air in the stadium prickles with energy. Then Taylor’s lips spread into a wide grin, and Harrison lifts him into a hug.

What the actual fuck?

My whole body is practically vibrating, and that fucker is smiling, having a great old time. I don’t get sports at all. A few other players rush over grinning, too, Duckie included. He slaps a hand on Harrison’s shoulder and says, something I don’t hear but gains a loud laugh from both him and Taylor. The OG andnew additions mingle, and then Dennis steps out with two other guys and all eyes go to them.

“Time to build some buzz around this new league,” Dennis yells. The guy next to him steps forward.

“Welcome, new players. Your tour last year was fantastic, and now we need to keep that buzz alive. My name is Liam Rothby, and I am the head choreographer for the league. Your choreographer from last year, Dennis, is joining us as a lead this year, and we are also welcoming an assistant to help keep you all on track. This is Miles Allworth. Now split into teams and let’s get started.”

They go through a few routines on the field as individual teams and then move into larger work. The main event welcome dance is top on their list, and they run it without any music, what feels like ten times before they release them to head in and shower.

Harrison throws me a smile and nods as I watch him walk in with the others, and then I spot Duckie walking my way.

“So what's this I hear about Harry being your next star? You would think you would want to follow up with a real entertainer.”

“I am,” I say, closing my sketchbook and putting it and my pencils away. He jumps up on the side of the rail, leaning over the edge.

“Please tell me Duckie is number three at least.”

“Actually…”

“Oh man, come on!”

---