Page 81 of Houston, We Have a Problem
“Houston!” One of the other coaches waves him over.
Houston hesitates for only a moment, and then he presses a kiss to my cheek that knocks me down to the bench behind me as he runs off to gather the boys for a pregame speech or something. I. Am. In. Trouble.
But not as much trouble as I’m about to be in. Halfway through the game, two texts come in. One from the same unknown number as Halloween, and the other from my boss.The first one gives me some measure of relief but with a healthy dose of new nerves as I read it.
Unknown Number: My brother may be in love with both sides of you, but you know this is going to hurt him when he finds out the truth. I’d rather it didn’t come from me, and I don’t think you want him to figure it out on his own. Tell him who you are before this destroys him. Please.
The latter absolutely ties my stomach into knots.
Connor: That story was great! Very impressed people over here, though it’s going to need a bit of editing before we post it. It’s clear you’re no longer impartial when it comes to Briggs. I’m giving you until Wednesday to figure out why Briggs isn’t throwing pitches at practice, or I’m pulling you out. For your own safety.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Darcy
The number of times Inearly got up and disappeared without giving Houston any warning was only exceeded by the number of parents who came up to me to tell me how much they like watching me on TV because I tell it how it is. And I thought about runninga lot.Chad—I’m assuming that’s who texted me—has me spooked. Not because he’s a private investigator—thank you, Google—and apparently knows that Tamlin and Darcy are the same person. (I’ll admit it’s a little freaky how quickly he figured that out.) No, Chad’s text scared me because I’m pretty sure he means Houston is likely going to figure out my secret pretty soon.
I mean, how can he not? Houston’s not an idiot. Even if he hasn’t fully pieced it together yet, I’m pretty sure it’s lurking in the back of his mind. The more interest he shows in me, the more he’s going to notice that beneath the faux surface I’m the same person I’ve always been.
The same lying, selfish woman who just spent the last hour watching Houston interact with each boy individually in a way that makes it impossible to deny how I feel about him.
As the Scorpions scrape out a win against the Mountain Lions, I consider texting Chad back and asking him for advice on how to admit the truth to Houston. There are so many layers of pathetic to that idea, though. I don’t think Chad would take kindly to learning I’m winging this as I go, and he would probably ask why I’ve been lying in the first place. He seems like the kind of guy who values relationships over a career, so I don’t imagine him being sympathetic to my reasoning unless I were to explain the ins and outs of the whole situation.
That’s too much to put into a text to a guy I’ve only been around for a couple of hours.
I keep to the bleachers while the boys clear the field and parents follow them. Houston hasn’t left the diamond. It’s like he’s waiting for something, but I don’t know what… He turns, meeting my gaze, and gestures for me to join him.
My feet are on their way before I can stop them, bringing me right up to Houston’s side.
“Congratulations on win—”
“Want to play?” He holds up a bat and smirks at me, almost like he’s taunting me.
Notlike. Heistaunting me, raising an eyebrow at me like he knows I’m going to refuse because I’m in slacks and wedge heels.
Competitiveness creeps up, red hot and heady, and I snatch the bat out of his hand. “Don’t go easy on me, Briggs.”
“Never in the plan,” he replies, and he picks up a few balls before heading to the pitcher’s mound. I have no idea what his intention is, but I’m abnormally excited to see what it’s like to be on the receiving end of one of his pitches.
But now Connor is in my head, asking questions I didn’t know needed to be asked. Is Houston really not throwing any pitches at practice? How does Connor even know that? Why haven’t I been trying harder to figure out what this story is so I have a better idea of what might happen going down the road?
Does Houston look worried about pitching to me? I’m probably projecting again. He’s not even going to be throwing that hard, and I doubt he—
Houston suddenly winds up and throws a pitch that zooms past me at a terrifying speed. It’s been a while since I went to the batting cages, and I never put the speed on the machine up to pro levels. He may be slower than most pitchers—the curse of being a lefty as well as on the high end of average player age—but that doesn’t mean he’s slow.
I glare at him. “Trying to intimidate me, Briggs?”
His grin lights up in a way that I know he’s never done in a game. He might be enjoying teasing me, but I’m pretty sure he also just loves playing baseball without all the pressure. “Just getting warmed up, Park.”
He picks up another ball, and this time I’m ready for him. But my bat hits nothing but air.
“I thought you said you played,” he says with a wink.
“Yeah, well, it’s been a few years.” I fix my stance, adjusting my grip on the bat and wishing Jesse had put my hair up today. I’m always too afraid to mess up the wig to do anything with it myself. But I can make this work. “Bring it, superstar.”
I clip the edge of the ball this time, sending it up and over the small fence between the bleachers and the diamond. Improvement! But not good enough.
Houston smirks at me, knuckling the next ball as he waits for me to get ready. “You sure you’re up for this?” he asks, as if he wasn’t the one who challenged me in the first place.
