Page 13 of Wild Catch
Droplets trickle down his cheeks and nose even as he finally drinks water, oblivious or uncaring that I’m recording all the action for the thirsty people of the internet.
Before this gets weirder, I ask, “And what’s your take, Logan?”
Anyone who finds themselves the recipient to the attention of an extremely good looking guy would feel a little something, right? Butterflies in the belly. A little more heat in the face. Some lack of air in the lungs.
Not me.
His eyes turn to me even as he’s still drinking water, and all I want to do is run and hide. It’s the only real course of action, because it’s not like I can turn back time and undo the fight with my ex. It’s all I think about when I’m near Logan Kim, and I have no doubt that scene comes to his mind when he looks at me now. Freaking Ben and his?—
“Watch out!”
I do. It’s what you’re supposed to when you’re in a ballpark.
The warning comes from nearby enough to lend it urgency. And sure enough, a round projectile flies at me at Mach speed.
All I can do is yelp and shrink. I don’t know if it’s terror—like maybe my personal reflex is freezing. But my eyes stay open, waiting for the moment of impact.
That’s not what happens, though.
I’m pretty sure what happens is a miracle.
Logan Kim goes from staring at me, to dropping his water bottle wherever it lands. He pivots blindly and reacts like lightning. It’s like his hand has a built-in magnet for baseballs. He reaches out and the ball hits his palm with violence—maybe an inch from my face. I yell some gibberish, almost dropping my phone from the shock.
And then there’s quiet.
“Mena,” the catcher says, dropping the ball and rushing to me. Next thing, his hands cinch my arms and I realize it’s to keep me upright when I was about to crumble. My wide eyes focus on his face—on something I’ve never seen on it. Fear. “Are you okay?” he breathes out the question like it took a great effort to make it.
“I—I—” I fumble with my phone in my hands and nod. And keep nodding. “Yes, I—Thank you. Fine. I am. I’m fine.”
His eyebrows twitch and his gaze turns darker as he runs it up and down my body. That’s when I become aware that all of it is shaking.
My helpful brain supplies images of what could’ve happened if he hadn’t been two steps from me. I could’ve died. No, Iwouldhave died. There would’ve been no more tacos for me—ever. Audrey and Hope would’ve had to get a new roommate. I’d have joined my dad and left Mom all alone.
Oh no. Oh shit. I can feel heat traveling up my chest, throat, and into my eyes.
“You don’t look fine,” Logan murmurs, not releasing me at all.
Steps approach. “Is everyone okay?” one of the players asks. “Rivera batted that one with a bit more strength than necessary. We didn’t think it’d go that far but…”
A muscle jumps in Logan’s jaw and he tears his eyes away from me. “I will murder him.”
“How about instead we take the princess here back to the clubhouse?” Cade asks with something weird in his voice that I can’t discern.
“Fine,” Logan rasps out. Then he nods at me. “You’re coming with.”
Distantly, as if the real Rosalina was locked away in a room, I feel a vestige of annoyance at the command. But then he shifts his hold on me, bringing an arm around my shoulders, his other hand still holding my arm just below the point where my sleeve cuts off, his calloused and hot hand wrapped around my clammy skin.
Cade falls in step on my other sound, whistling. “You’re lucky that you had this grouch around to save you. I can play catch as well as the next pro, but that was next level.”
“Lucky?” I echo numbly.
“I will murder him,” Logan repeats in a sinister tone of voice as, coincidentally, Lucky Rivera comes running at shocking speed.
“¡Mala mía!” he shouts still from a distance. “Ay bendito, casi te mato.”
Something about this is so ridiculous, it makes a hiccup bubble in my throat.
And it turns into laughter.
