Page 31 of Pitcher

I didn’t, but I’m not going to tell him that.

Instead, I smile and kiss that fucking dimple. “You’re the sweetest boy ever.”

He’s not a boy. He’s all man. But when he looks shy and awkward, it makes me think of that little boy who would give me his jacket when I forgot mine.

“Let’s not repeat that statement, huh?” He grins. “I have a reputation to protect.”

I nod, fighting the urge to drop my towel and put his hands on me.

I might even be willing to beg him.

But I won’t. Not today.

Taking the bag from his hands, I give him one last look and say, “Let me change, and then we can go.”

“I’ll wait in the car,” he agrees.

“It’s okay,” I tell him. “No one else is here.”

To work on my physical therapy and workouts for the mild cerebral palsy, Coach lets me use her lunch hour and closes the gym so she and I can work uninterrupted. After I broke my foot several months ago while working out, she insisted on helping me with strength training. It worked. I’ve never felt stronger or more in control of my body. Now, I love working out and have managed to pull Theo into my yoga routines in the morning. At first he hated it, but after I told him he needed to support my butt when we did a particular pose, he got on board quickly.

Theo nods and takes a seat on the bench in the middle of the lockers.

“All right, I’ll wait here.”

I take the bag back to the bathrooms to handle the “crime scene,” and locate the tampons and a receipt with a phone number written on the back. I crumble the receipt.Sorry, Nan. Theo will not be calling you anytime soon.

With a three-pointer Michael Jordan would be proud of, I ring the trash can with Nan’s crumpled love note. Sorry, not sorry.

When I’m done in the bathroom, I pull out the clothes Theo thoughtfully brought me. For a moment, with my hands buried in his bag, all I can think is: I’m going to be devastated.

Devastated.

The kind you can never recover from.

I have two more weeks with him.

It won’t be enough.

It will never be enough.

Clutched in my hand is a pair of Theo’s sweatpants and a Von Bremen T-shirt he wore in high school when he was much smaller. The man brought me his clothes to change into. Soft, comfy clothes. Clothes with his name on the back.

Why? Why did I have to fall in love with him? Why can’t I love the Bos of the world? Or even the Thads? Anyone other than a man who has a FastPass to every pussy on campus. A man who wants to travel the world and plow through every fangirl this side of the hemisphere.

Why him?

Because, a little voice whispers in my head, it’s fate.

Is it fate?

Or is it bad luck?

Or karma?

Not that I go around acting shitty, but I haven’t always been the nicest person. I make mistakes, but I try to atone for them. Hines and Grace raised me that way. And maybe that’s why I’m not going with Theo to Washington.

Baseball is our thing, yes, but it’s not my life.

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