Page 53 of Rival Summer

"You'll do it," I said, genuinely. "Be the big star. Spread your wings, pretty girl. And no matter what, I'll always be your biggest fan."

Her smile widened as she continued on about her Hollywood star, and I smiled at the dream of hers. When she had been quiet for a while, tucked into my side, I cleared my throat.

"Alright, so I know I've got a lot to make up for. Last time we tallied points, you had me at a measly two. Where did this date get me?"

Chandler tilted her head back to look at me, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Hmm, let's see," she pretended to ponder, tapping a finger against her lips. "I'm thinking... a solid five."

"Five?" I feigned indignation, clutching my chest as if struck. "Only five?"

Her laughter rang out, clear and bright against the backdrop of the night sky. "Well, it might just be a new record for you, Boston Riley."

We snickered together, our shared laughs mingling with the soft rustle of leaves around us. The conversation flowed effortlessly from there, each topic more engaging than the last. We watched the stars, lost in the beauty of the night. The stars paled in comparison to the girl in my arms, whose presence made my heart feel fuller than I ever thought possible.

"Come here," I whispered after our laughter had trailed off into the night. Chandler turned her gaze toward me, a question in her bright eyes. I propped myself up on one elbow and closed the distance between us. Our lips met in a gentle kiss, soft at first, then gradually deepening as the world faded into nothingness around us. Our tongues met, exploring each otherwith a passionate curiosity. I felt her body respond to every touch, pressing against me as if seeking warmth.

Eventually the kiss slowed, and we parted, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other's air. I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close. At that moment I found myself thinking that if the stars would align just long enough to give me her heart and nothing else, then I’d be absolutely okay with that.

SEVENTEEN

chandler

With eight bags between us,Willow and I had definitely overpacked. She heaved her floral suitcases into the storage compartment while I wedged mine beside it.

Caroline was crossing off names on her clipboard as each person entered the bus.

"Oh, looky!" Willow said, peppy as ever. "Your boy is in the back," she said with a wide grin as she nudged me toward him.

Boston was sprawled out in the last row. I couldn’t see his face, but his wavy hair caught the sunlight streaming through the tinted bus windows, and we both knew it could only be him.

"There she is," Boston said, as I got closer, only loud enough for me to hear. “Was hoping you'd sit with me. You want the window seat?"

"Sure," I managed, cheeks burning. He stood up to let me slide in, our fingers brushing in a silent hello that sent tiny shockwaves up my arm.

The rest of the team started piling onto the bus, laughter and chatter filling the space. Then, as always, Parker made his grand entrance.

"Damn, we have to be crammed on this bus?" he complained theatrically. "I was hoping since I'm so important I'd get the whole tour bus sitch. Have my own bed and bath."

Laughter erupted, and in a collective effort, napkins, which had been left in the cup holders, flew through the air, crumpled and aimed for Parker.

"Alright, alright," he chuckled, ducking as he claimed his throne a few rows ahead of us.

As the last few stragglers made their way onto the bus, I scanned for any sign of Reese. Crew and Bailey had already found their seats, stirring up some kind of conversation with the coaches near them, while Caroline continued to tick off names with precision. But there was no Reese. Then, just before the doors closed, he stepped inside and slid into a seat up front.

"And we’re off," Boston whispered, as he lifted up his hood and leaned back in his seat.

The bus started its departure, making its way out of the Blue Devils’ parking lot. Boston shifted slightly in his seat, uncrossed his arms and sneakily slid his hand over until it found mine, fingers intertwining. I adored the intensity of his touch, the way his strong hand felt wrapped around mine.

"You doing okay?" he murmured, his thumb tracing circles on the back of my hand, hidden from view.

"Fine," I breathed out, relishing the electric connection between us.

"Alright, folks," Bailey's voice cut through the murmurs of drowsy athletes and half-hearted conversations. He stood up, a grin plastered across his face as if he were about to present the greatest gift on earth. "We need votes. Which home run dance should I do this weekend?"

With that, Bailey commenced in a little jig, his knees bumping against the seats by him. His feet shuffled awkwardly in the confined space.

"Or option number two!" Bailey called out, moving straight into another dance without missing a beat. The second dance was nearly identical to the first—same awkward shuffles, same wild arm movements—but no one cared.

"Bailey, you're a clown!" someone shouted from the middle of the bus.

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