Page 20 of Stealing Home

That’s a bad idea.

Give me one reason why, and don’t say baseball.

Because I want to see you too, way too much. I’ve got to get my life together. I’m not a cheater.

Work faster.

Texting Harlow is the highlight of my day. It’s just what I need after studying in the library for hours. My mood immediately sours when I realize there’s nowhere to park my truck. The block is filled with vehicles, and our front yard is full of people. My plan had been to get something to eat and study a bit more before going to bed. I’m missing a test on Friday while we travel to Ellensburg to play our first game, but I won’t have a lot of extra time to study over the weekend.

Even though only Taylor, Max, Will and I live in our house, it’s been dubbed thebaseball houseby the team, and has acted as a sort of clubhouse for the team for many years. Every time someone moves out, another guy from the team is selected to move in. And what would they be celebrating, you might ask. Is it a win, a birthday, even a passing grade? Nothing quite so reasonable. They’re throwing this party because it’s Wednesday.

For a while I didn’t mind the constant party atmosphere, hell, I reveled in it. I went through a hard time about a year ago when I caught my ex-girlfriend cheating on me. The parties provided everything a guy thinks he needs to get over a broken heart—booze and girls. The thing about numbing away pain, or chasing away loneliness with meaningless sexual encounters is that in the quiet moments the pain is still there. Instead of hiding it I only managed to add more regrets.

Along with a nearly constant hangover, I also earned a dumb fucking nickname, thehookup king.I quit drinking so much, I hardly ever drink now, and as for the girls, I’ve avoided them for the last few months. I’m not proud of myself. No strings relationships aren’t me, but for several months I met up with women at our parties. They understood that we weren’t together, and would never be. They wanted to be seen with me, and brag about snagging the pitcher. I wasn’t really a person to them, and for a while I was okay with it, or at least I thought I was. I hadn’t thought about how much I’d hate having my privacy violated over and over.

I thought I could remedy the issue by hooking up with one woman exclusively. Maybe if I were only seeing one woman, I could finally move on from Mara, and forget the promise we’d made to each other. A vow to be each other’s first, last, and only.

It’s not a modern notion, but that’s how much I thought I loved her. Honestly, a few weeks ago I would have said I love her, as in present tense. That was before seeing Harlow at the banquet, before spending several days working side by side with her.

Something inside me is stirring. There’s a restlessness I haven’t felt in ages. This sense that I’m on the verge of forever, and all I have to do is take the first step. I have enough credits to graduate this spring. For a while I thought maybe I’d stay an extra year, pick up a second minor, and play one more year of baseball. But, we haven’t even played our first game and I’m already tired of the shit that follows playing baseball.

There are bodies crammed in, shoulder-to-shoulder. Loud music rattles the pictures on the wall. It’s a wonder this party hasn’t already been shut down by the police. Then again, the chief of police was a third baseman on the team twenty years ago, and the cops in town tend to turn a blind eye to all sorts of things for the current players. Speeding tickets become warnings, underage drinking is ignored, and a party can go on all night no matter how loud it is.

The stairway to the second floor, where the four bedrooms are located, is off the kitchen. I find Max and Will picking at a platter of nachos.

“Whose genius idea was it to throw a party?” I ask them.

Max shrugs. “I only got home thirty minutes ago, and the place was already wrecked.”

“I was working, so my money is on Taylor,” Will adds.

“We’re the only sober ones here, aren’t we?” I ask.

Max nods. “Looks like it.”

“This shit is getting old,” I grumble. “Why are you down here instead of hiding in your rooms?”

“Somebody has to make sure these idiots don’t try and drive home,” Will says.

The clack of heels on the linoleum alerts me that someone is coming up behind me only seconds before skinny arms wrap around my waist. I’m an affectionate person, but only on my terms. Grabbing both of her wrists, I pull her arms off of me, and turn around to put some distance between us.

Katrina doesn’t seem phased by the fact I just forcefully removed her. She steps into my bubble again and rubs her hand up my chest. I take another step back to get out of her reach, but end up pinning myself between her and the counter. “I’m tired, hungry, and still have a lot of work to do tonight. I’m not in the mood to deal with your bullshit, so for once will you hear me when I tell you that I don’t want you trying to rub up on me?”

Being overly confident, Katrina doesn’t get the message, and tries again. “Scott, I can help you loosen up. C’mon baby, let’s just go to your room and let me make you feel good.”

“Jesus fucking Christ woman, would you develop even a tiny bit of self respect?” Max explodes. “He said he doesn’t want you to touch him.”

Katrina is stunned silent for a moment, and I take the opportunity to slip past her. “I’m going to bed,” I tell the guys.

Will offers me one of the sandwiches they also got for the party, and tips his head to the door. “Go on. Max and I are going to try and shut this down.”

“Thanks man,” I reply. At the entrance to the hallway, I turn around and say, “We need to have a house meeting tomorrow when there’s not a drumline playing through Taylor’s head.”

The noise level is better once I close my door, but it’s still too loud for me to really concentrate. The lock on my door is one of those barrel types. It’s old, and tends to stick as I slide it, sometimes without fully latching. Once my room is secure I pull out my ear buds and turn on a white noise app. It’s close to eleven, so I decide to go to sleep instead of studying more.

Stripping down to my boxers, I slide beneath the sheets, and let exhaustion claim me. My mind reaches out for Harlow, and it’s as if my subconscious summons her. The dream I have is so real I can feel the heat of her on my back, and her arms around my middle. Her lips press against my skin, and all the blood in my body races towards my dick.

I groan when her hand slips below the waistband of my boxers and wraps around my erection. My hips flex into her tight grasp. Slowly, my mind starts to become alert, but Harlow’s touch doesn’t fade away as I wake.

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