Page 42 of The Shake Off

None of this was playing out like I was used to.

Payton wasnothinglike I was used to.

Even for a strong swimmer, it had become abundantly clear I was well out of my depth.

My heart thudded again, and not in the good way. The way that reminded me there was a ball of anxiety bouncing in my belly and getting bigger by the day.

“What’s wrong?” she asked as she wiped the corner of her mouth. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

Instead of answering with something dumb, I thrust the bag I’d brought with me at her; the one containing my home and away uniform, a New York Lions ball, and cap, and a poster – all signed by me.

Payton opened it up, her eyes widening as she sorted through everything.

“Wow, Ace,” she breathed in a way that woke my dick up. “This is amazing. Thank you.”

She looked at me and smiled, which only made me frown deeper. Maybe she’d forgotten why I was here. Maybe she’d meant I just needed to bring over the bag, then we’d have sex or whatever a different day.

Maybe that’s why she looked all… nah, she looked sexy as fuck, and the semi growing in my pants agreed.

She stepped to one side. “Are you going to come in?”

“Oh. Yeah.”

She walked off, so I followed mutely and closed the door behind me.

I knew I’d been in her apartment before, twice if you counted when I came over the other night to tell her she’d ruined my life, but my mind was completely blanking.

I could not remember a single thing about it.

Except this… I remembered standing in the kitchen.

She placed the bag on the counter and turned to me with a smile. “Hey, how was the game? The Lions won, so that’s good, right?”

I stared at her. And stared some more. I wasn’t sure what game she was talking about, but it didn’t sound like anything I’d taken part in. Except the winning. Not that I’d contributed to that, in any way,at all.

“Did you watch it?”

“Some of it.” She lifted her shoulder up, like that explained everything, especially when her eyes lit up. “I saw you pitch. That was great.”

I frowned again, so deeply I felt it right between my eyes. The only pitch she saw me make was a wild one, and it absolutely was not great.

It was possible I was standing in front of the only person I’d met who couldn’t reel my stats off with a click of my fingers. Or name every play I made, or ball I threw.

She probably didn’t even know the different types of throws.

Or that thereweredifferent types of throws.

“So,” she pressed on, “how was it? How did it feel?”

I leaned back against the kitchen counter, standing opposite her, and crossed my arms. “Do you know anything about baseball at all?

She shook her head and grinned widely. “No, not really. I like watching it when we go to the stadium, and I’m watching it more now, you know, because of…” she paused and glanced at her feet, “um… my friends.”

“Penn Shepherd?”

Her dark brown eyes darted back to mine, a smirk curved up her lips making them appear even fuller. “You know that, huh?”

“How d’you think I got your number?”

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