Page 19 of Years in the Making

“Oh,” I stammer, feeling panic creep in as I look back at EG. “Just a friend. The, uh, the pitcher.”

She follows my line of sight. “He’s not your boyfriend?”

“No!” I say, probably too quickly.

I look over to see she’s wearing the smuggest grin. Her blue eyes slide to mine and that grin turns into a full-on smile, and that’s when I see the teeth that are just a little bit toopointy. Shit, EG’s twin sister has caught me ogling her brother.

“It’s funny,” she mumbles. “I didn’t peg you as the type.”

We’d talked for five minutes, I don’t know how she’d be able to peg me as anything. “As what type?” I ask, letting my eyes wander to the field and settle back on EG just in time to see him finish another strikeout.

“The cheating type.” I nearly give myself whiplash because of how fast my head swings back around. She fully laughs this time. “Ah, because you’re not, are you?” I shake my head slowly. “So why does he think you have a boyfriend?”

I swallow and look back at the field. “Because I told him I did.”

“Why?”

“Because he was a stranger on a train, and it just came out when he asked for my number.”

She stares unblinking at me for a minute before her eyes narrow. “My brother, the guy in blue throwing the balls.” She points to the field. “That guy… asked for your number?” She sounds genuinely shocked.

“Yeah. He sort of helped me at the station then saved me a seat, and we got talking and eventually he asked for my number, and ‘I don’t think my boyfriend would like that’ sort of slipped out.”

“So what now? You’re just going to keep acting like you have a boyfriend while you attend his games to drool all over him?”

“I’m not drooling all over him,” I say, sitting back and crossing my arms.

“Well, maybe not literally, but figuratively speaking, you sure as shit are.”

I don’t respond, just watch as he leaves the mound. When he glances up at me and smiles, I can’t help but grin back.

“It’s obvious you like each other. I mean, I don’t know you from that chick with blue hair over there, but Teddy’s never been the aggressive type when it comes to women. Apparently, my older brother and I got 100% of that gene, so if he asked for your number, that’s not nothing.”

Teddy. My eyes find him where he’s lounging in the dugout.

“Zoe fucking Fletcher!” a voice calls from the end of the bleachers. “When the hell did you get home?”

“Mary-Anne Losani!” Zoe jumps up before turning back to me. “Tell him the truth, Red. He’s a good guy. He deserves it.” Then she leaps off the bleachers and into the other woman’s arms, both of them shrieking like banshees.

The thing is, I had every intention of telling him, but now I’m not sure I want to. While I do want things to change, I also want to get to know him more as a friend.You could just tell him that you know, a little voice says at the back of my mind. That would be the mature thing to do. But what if he’s mad that I lied, or he doesn’t believe I may eventually want more?

As I’m having the most epic of internal battles, I catch EG, Teddy, looking at me again. He smiles, and everything goes quiet in my brain. It’s like the time my parents took me snorkeling in Indonesia, the world quieting the second my head slipped below the surface. He’s done that a lot since I met him, made my brain quiet down a bit. Dulled the constant thoughts racing through it. His ability to soothe and unnerve me at the same time is wild. My brain stills while my body comes alive.

Zoe climbs back up beside me to grab her bag and once again catches us staring at each other. “Can you let Teddy know I’m heading out with a friend?” she asks before putting her hand on my arm and squeezing a bit. “Just be honest with him.”

Just be honest with him.

The game doesn’t make it to the final inning. Apparently, there is something called a mercy rule, and Teddy’s team scored so many runs that their opponents begged for the bleeding to stop. I’m glad it’s over already for two reasons. First of all, it’s getting chillier and I’m not dressed for it, and secondly, I’m starting to wonder if the people sharing the bench with me could feel me vibrating with nervousness through the metal seat. A totally normal way to feel while waiting to tell a friend that you lied about having a boyfriend.

After the teams shake hands and disappear back in their dugouts, I begin to count slowly, trying to give myself something else to focus on. He’s walking towards me with his bag before I get to ten. There’s something different about the way he’s carrying himself tonight. He’s almost got swagger, like someone who pitched a perfect game. At least that’s what people were talking about around me; I still don’t know the rules or all the terms. But I do know that I like the way he’s walking my way. And if I hadn’t already decided to come clean, I’d be making it now.

“I think you undersold your abilities when you said you were just okay,” I say, slowly making my way down to where he’s standing.

“Oh, well, in this league I’m a fucking superstar.” He laughs, hauling his bag over his shoulder. My eyes go to the forearm holding the bag, and I try not to focus too hard on how his muscles and veins move beneath the skin. “Do you know where my sister went?” he asks, looking around.

“She said she was going out with a friend.”

“I thought I heard Mary-Anne’s voice.”

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