Page 41 of Fake Dates and Home Plates
That earns me a middle finger.
She huffs, grabbing another axe off the rack. “Keep talking. I’m warming up.”
I won’t lie, seeing her determination as she squares her stance before pulling the axe back and attempting another throw that lands on the floor is hot as hell. I watch as her shoulders sink in frustration before she quickly grabs another one and tries again, skipping my turn. This time, her shoulders straighten, and she takes her time before letting it fly.
It hits dead center, and Henley spins around with both hands raised victoriously in the air. “Bullseye!” She does a little dancethat has me laughing loudly. When she hears it, she stops and smiles at me. “Best date ever.”
After an hour, we’ve had our fill of weapon throwing and are sitting in a corner, enjoying some wings and fries.
“These are so good,” Henley says between bites.
“I figured if you were gonna throw sharp things, I should feed you afterward.” Grabbing another handful of fries, I ask her, “So what’s your plan after graduation?”
She finishes chewing before taking a sip of her water. “Run until I can’t anymore. And when that happens, I’d like to coach or maybe start a foundation for young runners.”
Henley appears calm when discussing the future, something I can’t relate to at all.
“What about you? Minors or majors?” she asks nonchalantly, but there’s an edge to her voice that gives her away. Baseball isn’t her favorite topic, and who knows what bullshit Dakota has told her. “I know a little about how it works but not the finer details.”
“If my parents had it their way, I’d give up thishobbyalready and focus on something more realistic,” I tell her. “But I’ll be happy with whatever team will take me. Most players begin their careers in the minor leagues. Guess I’ll find out next summer.”
The draft is in July. If the season goes the way I hope, with the Knights making it through the playoffs and into the College World Series, our season would end in June. I’m aware of my talent, but skipping straight to a major league team is rare. Besides, I’ll be grateful to learn anything I can before I get to the next level.
We sit in silence for a moment while the weight of that statement settles between us. Whatever happens between us, we could end up on opposite sides of the country from each other. I guess I’ve always known that it’s a possibility that if and when I do have a partner or family, I’d spend half the year or more away from them.
That’s not a concern I need to prioritize right now, though. Not when the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen is sitting across from me with wing sauce on her cheek.
Henley doesn’t flinch when I reach out with a paper napkin to wipe it off. Instead, she leans in to my touch further with a silly grin on her face.
“So your parents suck?” she asks as she takes another drink of her water.
I asked her if she wanted a beer or soda, but she declined because she tries to stay as healthy as possible during the season.
“That’s the gist, yeah,” I tell her with a shrug. “I’m just lucky they don’t force a relationship neither of us wants to have anyway.”
Maybe I should be more upset about that, but I really don’t care. They provided for me financially. I got a portion of my trust fund when I started college, which I used to buy the house I’ve lived in for almost three years. I have a business manager who assists in managing my finances. She suggested buying the house and then told me I could rent it out once I move, meaning I could have some additional income. Not that I need it, but it could be years before I’m making enough from playing baseball to be financially comfortable.
My parents at least set me up with the basics. They might be absent and emotionally uninvolved, but they don’t want the embarrassment of me living below their means either.
“What about your parents?” I turn the question around on her.
Henley lights up. “They’re the best. Super supportive of everything I do—sometimes a little too supportive, as you might have noticed.”
I definitely did notice. Her parents are fantastic and clearly adore their kid.
She sighs. “They tried for more kids after me, but it didn’t really work out. So now, all their energy is reserved for me. I might be a little selfish, because I don’t hate having them all to myself either. Although they like to adopt my friends too.”
I noticed that too. I overheard Henley’s mom ask Lily the same questions she asked her own daughter—ensuring she was eating and sleeping properly, asking for updates on her dating life, checking in on her grades.
“Plus, they’re ready to support me indefinitely, wanting me to chase my dreams of going to the Olympics,” she says as she wipes her face with a napkin. “Speaking of my parents, they really want you to come for dinner sometime soon.” She grimaces.
“And that’s bad?” I ask as I take a drink of my soda.
She shakes her head. “Not bad. I guess it just seems kind of fast. They only met Dakota a couple of times, but I never brought him to our house.”
“You don’t have to compare what we have to him, you know?” I try to say without injecting any negative tone.
I’m not mad she has a history; I just don’t think the guy deserves to be her roadmap of relationship standards.
