Page 88 of The Problem with Players

“I don’t have to be a pain in your ass.” I narrowed my brows. “Unless you request me to be a pain in your ass, if you’re into butt stuff.”

She laughed.

I liked that even more than the eye rolls.

“This conversation is over,” she ordered as she took a seat back at the table.

I sat across from her. “Okay, what do you want to talk about now?”

“I was somewhat interested in our conversation before Easton interrupted it.”

A knot formed in my gut as she said those words. The last thing I wanted to talk about was me and my mother’s concern about me. I’d rather talk about anything else in the world but that. “That was a pretty boring conversation. I’d rather go back to talking about putting a pain in your ass.”

Her eyes narrowed as she studied me, a seriousness finding her stare. “What does the rest of your day look like today?”

“Nothing too much. Why?”

She leaned in toward me. “Do you want to hang out with me today on the field here and hit some balls?”

I leaned in toward her. “Yes.”

“Around seven this evening?”

“It’s a date.”

“It’snota date.”

“It’s hanging out between two friends.”

“We arenotfriends.”

“It’s a batting round between two roommates.”

“Okay. That works.” She shoved her plate toward me. “Now, go get me some more of your sausage. I’m still hungry.”

Didit seem like a setup that Avery asked me to hang out with her on the field? One hundred percent. Was I willing to overlook it since all I wanted to do with my time lately was hang out with her? One million percent.

I showed up to find her already standing on home plate with a bag of baseballs beside her. She wore black leggings, an oversized sweatshirt, and a baseball cap as she held a bat in her hands. The second she saw me, she said, “You’re late.”

“By two minutes.”

“Late is late.”

“I like to make an entrance,” I joked, walking toward her. “So what’s the catch here?” I asked.

“The catch?”

“Don’t play dumb, Avery. That’s my role. I know you didn’t just invite me out to hit some balls for a casual conversation. So out with it.”

She placed the head of her bat against the ground and heldit around the neck. “You didn’t want to talk about your mom worrying about you at brunch.”

“True.”

“I figured it would be easier to talk about it on the field. This is my favorite place to talk about hard things. Or at least, think about hard things. I’m not big on conversation when it comes to my feelings.”

“I guess we have something in common.”

“Who would’ve thought?” she quipped. She held the bat out toward me. “So you want to talk while we hit balls around?”

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