Page 113 of Wild Pitch
She slides an openly unfriendly look at me before manhandling me toward the hallway. “Here’s the bathroom. You’ll have to share with Dad but I suppose you’re used to worse.”
“Did you have to share growing up?”
“Oh yes.” Her voice darkens. “Don’t reming me, it was a tough and very stinky time.”
That makes me chuckle. No wonder she doesn’t give a shit about what guys do or don’t do in the clubhouse. She grew up knowing the absolutely foul smells that come out of men. Almost makes me want to check my armpits to confirm I washed them well.
Opening another door, she declares, “And here’s my bedroom. It’s better that you stay here and not my brother’s because I visit more often, so I know the sheets are clean.”
My eyebrows rise. “Wow, so I’ll have the privilege of seeing where you grew up?”
“There are no dolls inside, if that’s what you’re expecting.”
She lets me through and flips on a switch that turns on the light and the overhead fan. The walls are a pastel blue, furniture also brown in contrast to the yellow bedding. But just like in the living room, her walls are littered with snapshots of her life and also posters of… muscle groups, of course.
“Were you a muscle nerd since childhood?”
“Yes.” Her expression is grumpy, cheeks pinking. “It didn’t exactly make me too popular in school.”
“Nerd.”
“Jock,” she spits right back out.
“Fair.” I tuck my hands in my pockets and glance around at the pictures, spotting a few that no doubt are from elementary. I can’t help but smiling at one where she’s in pigtails and a toothygrin with a gap. But then I keep perusing until I land on one tacked on the wall above her desk.
Bypassing her, I march to it and remove it from the wall, setting the tack down to inspect it. “So this is the douchebag?”
“What?”
“Your ex.” I flip the pic to her, knowing it shows her kissing some blond guy’s cheek while he smiles for the camera.
A million emotions flash through her face. Surprise. Disgust. Embarrassment. Some other more unpleasant ones too.
She makes a grab for it. “Give me that.”
“No, I want to inspect it.”
“Cade.” She glares as I lift the picture well above my head where she has no chance of reaching it. “I’m not above getting a step ladder.”
I shrug. “I’d just move out of reach again.” Looking up, I try to inspect the guy’s face as if that could tell me what she even saw in him. But all I glean is that he’s some random surfer-dude looking type and she’s way too stunning beside him, her hair about her bare shoulder, except for what looks like a strappy swimsuit. Makes me grind my molars. “What did you even see in this guy? He doesn’t seem any special.”
Huffing, she takes a step away that allows me to lower the picture. She folds her arms and glares at it. “I don’t know. I guess it was the fact that he was the only guy eager to kiss me.”
“Wait, what?”
Her dark eyes lift to mine. “What do you mean what?”
“Only—” I shake my head. “So you’ve only ever kissed this asshole here?”
Like magic, red rises up her throat and to her forehead, and she avoids my eyes.
“As you’re well aware, I haven’t had a line of guys fighting to make out with me.” She rolls her eyes but by the way her arms tighten around her, I know this really hurts her.
Slowly, I release air between my lips and toss the damn picture to the desk. Facing her again, I say, “Then let’s change that.”
“Change what?” Her eyebrows tighten.
This is it, the go big or go home moment. The moment we see if this turns into a home run or an out for me.
