Page 53 of Wild Catch
“Eww.” A pause. “I’m game, take it off.”
This is what pisses me off about my flavor of claustrophobia, that headphones exacerbate it. Otherwise I’d be canceling the hell out of these fools with a good pair of Beats.
I try to focus even harder on the play I’m recalling, the one where O’Brian made an error that cost us one run, when someone plops on the seat beside me and places something on my folding table.
It’s a can of ginger ale. I look up expecting Hope Garcia, who is the only one to have figured out the drink helps me when flying, even if she doesn’t know why.
Instead it’s Rosalina Mena. She unfolds the table before her and also places another ginger ale on top.
She turns to me. “Hi, Logan.”
“Um, hi?” I ask, raising my eyebrows. I motion at her ginger ale. “Hungover?”
“Tragically,” she admits, popping the tab and opening her can with a hiss.
“Isn’t this great?” a familiar voice comes from behind and I close my eyes, wondering what happened to their chess game.
Twisting on her seat, her knee bumping against my thigh, Rose asks Rivera, “What’s great?”
“You two,” he responds and I can practically hear the grin in his voice. “Sitting here together…”
“So is it official?” Starr asks, his voice coming above my head.
Meanwhile, Rose’s big brown eyes shift to me, clearly waiting for my response. I guess I’m bestowed with the official task of kicking off this weird fake dating exercise. I snap my pocket notepad shut, tuck the pen inside the spiral, and reach for my unopened can.
“It’s not official yet,” I mutter, feeling her stiffen. “We’re only getting started.”
“What?” the two stooges screech at the same time, very much in the fashion I imagine tweens at a pajama party would.
Starr then calls out, “Hey, Hope! Turns out you’re winning the bet.”
“What bet?” Rose asks sharply.
“Some of us think you two are getting together, and some others don’t,” explains Rivera in a quiet way, as if he’s actually capable of understanding that not everything has to be shouted at the four winds.
Far from getting offended—the way I feel, to be honest—Rose reveals all her pearly whites in a smile that makes her eyes glow from the inside. “Let me guess, you and Hope think we’re dating and Audrey and Cade think we’re not.”
“Damn, you’re good.” Rivera chuckles.
Sipping from my ginger ale, I narrow my eyes at the woman next to me and she gives me a little shrug. It’s not the first time that I get reminded of how shrewd she is, and I don’t know what to make of that. I’ve had enough women try to manipulate me in my life that I’m definitely wary.
Then again, if Rose was trying to play games with me she wouldn’t be so damn honest all the time, even when it makes me uncomfortable.
Unfortunately, Hope doesn’t modulate her voice when she appears on our hallway. “Wait, are Rose and Logan finally dating?”
In, I would say, less than a second—the whole airplane erupts.
“Aww yeah!”
“Wait, no! I had a crush on Rosie.”
“Rosie?” I mouth at her, watching as her cheeks darken.
“Does that mean I can invite you to my wife’s party with the other WAGs?” someone asks in the middle of the fray—Brown, I think.
“No—” I start to say.
But Rose slams a hand on my thigh and twists to glance back. “Of course, we would love to be there.”
