Page 38 of Honey Pot

"Mary is nice.” Ella walked her fingers along the expanse of my bicep with a steady, painful pressure.

I sat on the floor as she hovered above me. With our height difference, most of the time I did my therapy cross-legged while she moved around me making sure that my shoulder was healing properly.

“Am I going to be able to practice soon?” I asked her, avoiding the conversation of Clementine.

I could still taste her on my fingers and smell her on my skin. I fucking hated every second of it. She was sitting in the kitchen in tiny satin shorts and a sweatshirt when I crawled from my bed the morning after the party. The shorts did nothing to conceal the soft skin of her thighs. My thoughts wandered to my hand between them and how wet she had been for me before even touching her. Her bright brown eyes engaged in an email on her laptop, and her perfect long fingers wrapped around a mug of coffee.

I wanted to bury my face in the space between her shoulder and neck, but I left her alone, sneaking out the front door without breakfast.

The conundrum of why she didn’t want me to kiss her still wracked my every waking thought. At the time, I couldn’t tell if she was just playing hard to get but the more I laid awake staring at the ceiling thinking about it. It was the second time she had denied me. I realized that she wasn’t playing a game. She was protecting herself.

She was scared of me, of us, of whatever was coming.

A collision of stars.

“When you stop,” she tugged on my arm, and I winced as the sharp pain vibrated up through my neck into my jaw, “doing that when I move your arm. Sure.”

“Everyone is getting antsy, Peach,” I said.

“They’re always antsy. I’ve never seen Coach relaxed. Not once.”

Strands of blonde hair tickled my cheek as she leaned in to work out a knotted muscle.

“I just wanna get into the batting cages,” I groaned as she found a cluster of tense muscles. “I’m antsy, too.”

“It must be hereditary then.” She nudged my head with her elbow. She hummed and moved around me to sit across with her knees up against me. “But it's not the schedule bugging you, so whatiseating at you?”

Her brown eyes stared at me, urging me to spill my guts, but it was too hard. There was too much to explain.

“Oh, we aren’t playing this game, Cael Cody,” Ella warned. “You’re worse than a tongue-tied cat sitting in a bathtub of cold water.”

“We’re spending too much time together. That made no sense but was somehow the most southern thing you’ve ever said.” I laughed, but my mood was still tight and sour. “What if I never play ball again?”

“That’s dramatic.”

“What if myhappycame back, and now I don’t know how to hang on to it?”

“Ooh, a callback.” Ella narrowed her eyes at me. “Spill.”

“She’s here, myhappy.” Clementine.

Her face changed, “Are you talking about Mary?” I flinched at the name.

I don’t answer for a long moment, trying to figure out how much of my heart I want to expose here in the gym. But it’s Ella, and I could tell her anything. So I did. I told her everything.

“So her name is Clementine?” Ella sunk back on the mat with a soft expression. “That’s tragic.” She chewed on her lip. “The story, not her name.”

I offered her a pity laugh.

“Fingering her in the bathroom at Hilly’s probably wasn’t the best idea,” she scolded, the golden flecks in her eyes catching the light as her brows came together.

“You’re just jealous, Peach.” I rolled my eyes at her.

“I know whose fingers I like, and he wouldn’t dare do it in a shabby sports memorabilia bar.” Her smile was bright and made her scar scrunch up around her nose.

I shrugged. “Pretty specific. Wherehaveyou been fingerbanged then, Ella?”

“There’s a list,Cael,” she responded with a sneer. “It's extensive, you want it?”

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