Page 131 of Wild Catch
I take a deep breath and go. They follow me, clearing our path every time someone wants to stop for a chat, fully understanding that I’m a woman on a mission.
And that the mission is getting her man.
Adrenaline courses through my veins as we make our way into the clubhouse. Instead of finding it empty like I expected, the whole freaking team is clustered here and in the way between me and my man.
“Attention,” I bark like I’m a drill sergeant, and it serves to freak out the nearest guys. I clear my throat and speak again even louder. “Make way right now.”
“Yes, before she barrels through you,” Hope adds from behind me in an equally booming noise. Meanwhile, Audrey snickers.
Josh Thomason, one of the relief pitchers, is the first one to deliberately move out of the way, and one by one the other guys fall in line until there’s almost a clear path to the clinic.
Except that there’s someone who is in the way and not moving. It’s Logan—he was the eye of the hurricane and the rest of the team was just congregated around him.
His eyes widen slightly at my approach. I keep my head high, my shoulders back and my step way firmer than I actually feel. Inside, I’m a roost of butterflies threatening to spill all around the clubhouse.
I stop close enough that if I stretch out a hand I could touch him, and I can see the muscle ticking in his jaw, the heavy swallow that makes his Adam’s apple bob, and the dark shadows around his eyes. Like maybe he also didn’t sleep a wink last night.
Without saying a word, I reach into my back pocket and produce my response. His eyes zero in on it right away. His arm muscles tighten like he’s preventing himself from reaching for it.
So I offer it to him. And I point at it with my lips for good measure.
Slowly, maybe because of the pain in his ribs, he takes the note and unfolds it. Unlike his very carefully redacted letter, mine is messy, quick, and ridiculous. It’s a final test to see if he’s willing to put the work, because saying it is not enough, and I won’t settle for empty promises ever again. Actions are what matter.
Lifting his eyes to mine, he folds the paper again and hides it in his pocket. Then he’s in motion, walking around me toward the door.
My heart thumps painfully. Maybe I took it too far. He’s a proud man after all.
But Logan stops at his locker and pulls it open. He braces against it with one arm, searching in the space with his free hand. I know what he’s looking for. He re-gifted it to me in a fit of annoyance that sent my pulse skyrocketing, and I returned it to his locker via a certain prankster.
“Ha!” Logan’s little victory travels to my ears in the intense silence in the clubhouse, and I’m aware of the eyes watching the show.
I grab my hands tight as I follow along as well. Logan sits down carefully, holding a small bundle in one hand, his face pinching a little as he tries to bend forward.
“Wait,” I exclaim, immediately getting his attention. “You’re hurt and I didn’t really think it through. That’s enough—I get the point.”
“No.” Logan narrows his eyes and cocks an eyebrow. “The instructions are clear. I must do this.”
I run a hand down my face. “Logan, I was kind of kidding.”
A corner of his lips lifts. “And kind of not, so just hold tight.”
“What’s happening?” one of the guys whispers far too loudly.
“I don’t know, but I guess we’re about to find out,” someone else responds.
And find out we do—at a snail pace. Logan toes off his sneakers and steels his expression to lift one foot over the opposite knee, removing his sock before unfurling the bundle in his hand.
Lucky gasps. “No way.”
I suck both of my lips in because I want to scream, cry, and laugh—especially the latter.
Logan stretches the extremely long sock—mostly white, except at the top where there’s a tiny alligator leg painted on it. The grand reveal sets off a wave of chuckles and murmurs while Logan works the sock up, pushing up his pant leg to his knee so the full practical joke is revealed, and then he starts the process with the other sock.
I cover my mouth but I’m sure it’s clear that I’m about to explode with joy. Logan works painstakingly with the other sock until he’s fully decked, and he stands up in his full tiny-gator-legged glory to face me.
“Well?” He places his hands on his hips.
I let out a gurgling laughter and take off, slowing down at the last minute so I don’t crash against him. Instead, I wrap him in a gentle embrace, resting my cheek against his heart that’s beating wildly.
