Page 49 of Honey Pot

But Clementine didn’t say anything; she just readied herself for the next pitch, missing this time. The ball crashed to the back of the cage, rolling around by her feet until the next was thrown. She missed the next three, her hands too loose around the bat and frustration seeped in on her delicate features.

“Reset,” I said.

Moving toward her, I felt her tense as I wrapped my hand under her arm and placed my palm flat on her chest. “Breathe,” I whispered into her ear. “Feel it here,” I instructed as her chest rose. “Push back on my hand.”

She listened, filling her lungs until my hand lifted from her chest, over and over again. Rising and falling until she was relaxed and the tension was gone in her body.

“Try again,” I said, stepping back and bringing that hand to my own chest.

My fingers itched to hold the bat and my resolve was slowly crumbling.

I curled them against my heart, letting the racing rhythm of it ease me back from the ledge. Temptation chewed at the back of my head as she swung and hit the ball perfectly against the back of the cage.

I needed a meeting.

“Are you scared for next season?” She asked, but it didn’t feel like her other questions. It felt personal.

I’m scared right now.

“Yes,” I answered honestly. “Reworking a team after losing a star pitcher isn’t easy. You and everyone else saw what happened to the Hornets when Nicholas King left. Arlo has always been the better pitcher, but the skill was mute. We hadn’t figured out how to work together, it destroyed us.”

“Given the explosive way the season ended, I’d say you still don’t have it quite figured out, Cael.”

She was more than right. I could barely keep it together long enough to heal my shoulder and keep my head in the game. Next season was going to be a war zone.

Clementine cocked her head to the side, ignoring the whirling of the machine. The ball lurched out of the pipe at her, unprepared for it she jumped back as I caught it in my bare hand with a strangled grunt. A flash of hot, tingly pain washed over my palm and down my wrist, as I took the ball in my hand. Van had turned it down but it had to have been going over fifty miles per hour coming out of the machine.

“Fuck,” I grunted. All that mattered was that it hadn’t hit her.

“Oh, God!” She dropped the bat to the ground, flipping the helmet from her head, and stepped toward me as I slipped the machine into off and wiggled out the stinging pain that vibrated across the palm of my hand.

“Are you hurt?” She grabbed my wrist and turned my palm over.

I wanted to tell her it barely stung, I’ve made the idiot mistake of catching a hurling ball with my bare hand before but never one coming from a machine. It didn’t feel great but the sight of her fawning over my skin, her lips fanning cool air over my palm. She didn’t need to know it was fine.

“It might be broken,” I faked, groaning as I lazily wiggled my fingertips. I hiss playfully as she ran her fingers over mine. “You can kiss it better if you want?”

“Do you need ice? Should I get someone?” She asked not looking up at me. Her worry was too thick to entertain my flirtatious teasing. “I’m so sorry,” she said.

It was cute to see her like this; there had been so much back and forth. Her walls surrounded her like a forcefield, preventing me from seeing the old Clementine. She was protecting the little girl inside her heart and, tragically, we had that in common.

Her brown eyes flickered up to mine, welling with tears, and I laughed gently.

“I’m alright, Plum,” I hummed, the need to console her running rampant. “I just need some ice,” I whispered, wrapping my other hand around the back of her head and raking my fingers through her hair. “I’m glad you didn’t get hurt.” I brushed my lips over her hair.

She apologized again, turning her face upward to look at me, and my breath hitched.

“There you are,” I whispered.

Seventeen-year-old Clem stared up at me, innocent, heartbroken eyes gleaming under the lights of the batting cages. Hair stuck to her face and her cheeks were pink with worry. I knew I wasn’t allowed to but the urge to kiss her never faded, like a dull roar at the back in the back of my mind it flared at the sight of her.

But I could do this. My self-control waning like a flag in a hurricane, I pressed my lips to her forehead and settled for the softness of her skin instead.

MATTHEWS

2015

The music blasting over the speakers was some form of techno-country that hurt my head.I had lost Cael an hour ago and, even though he promised not to stray too far, I could hear the gaggle of senior girls by the pool laughing at whatever jokes he was telling.

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