Page 100 of Off Camera
“Have you been here the whole time?” I ask, jogging her way.
“Yup.”
“You aren’t melting? You should move to the section in the shade.”
“I can’t make fun of you from all the way over there.”
I snort and put my glove on my hip. “You haven’t talked any shit yet.”
“Because you haven’t done anything impressive. You could at least try to catch the ball, Duncan.”
“Want to come down here and show me how it’s done, Sinclair?”
Her grin is sly, and I hate that my dick twitches. “Don’t tempt me with a good time. I’m a fast learner.”
I flip her off and turn back to the field, trying to focus my attention to the game. Dallas strikes out, and Maverick cheers when he’s sent back to the dugout.
“Your ass looks nice in those pants,” Avery calls out.
“Stop distracting me,” I yell at her. “Do you have money on this game or something?”
“On the charity softball game?”
“I don’t know.”
“Nah. I like seeing you riled up. Is this how you look when you’re responding to me online? Red-faced with wrinkled eyebrows?”
I huff and crouch low, watching the next player take the mound. He swings and misses the first pitch, and I sigh.
“I hate playing sports,” I admit, and out of the corner of my eye, I see her scoot to the edge of her seat. “I’d much rather be inside playing my kind of games. This is my idea of hell.”
“You’d make a good athlete, though. You have very nice shoulders,” she blurts out, and I turn to look at her again. “And you’re strong.”
“Keep your tongue in your mouth,” I joke, and it’s her turn to throw a middle finger my way. “You don’t?—”
“Duncan!” Maverick screams. “The ball!”
I look at the infield, trying to figure out what’s going on. The batter, a running back from the Titans, is making his way to second base with a surprising amount of speed.
“Reid, the?—”
“I see it.” I lift my arm above my head and wait for the ball to drop in my glove.
Except, it doesn’t.
By the time I realize I’m too far left, the ball is six inches away from my face, and then everything goes black.
TWENTY-NINE
AVERY
I’mon my feet before I can think twice.
Reid is lying motionless on the field, his arms out at his sides and his hat knocked off his head. I charge down the stairs that lead to the turf and leap over the wall. The six-foot drop feels like it takes forever, and when my feet land on the ground, my heart beats wildly in my chest as dozens of players surround him.
“Is he dead? Oh my god, he’s going to be so pissed if he’s dead,” Maverick says when I get close. “How did he not see the ball?”
“He’s notdead.” Dallas squats down and touches Reid’s chest, exhaling a sigh of relief. “He’s breathing. Thank fucking god.”
