Page 40 of Truth or Tequila (Grand Slam 1)

Chapter Sixteen

seb

“Heads up!” I say as I toss the ball to Sophie. She’s walking toward me across the infield as we’re wrapping up practice. She squeals and throws her hands over her eyes. The ball hits her on the hip.

“What was that?” I laugh as I bend over to pick up the ball.

“Don’t throw balls at me.” She frowns as she shoves me on my shoulder.

“I didn’t throw it at you. I tossed it.”

“Well don’t toss it at me either.” She’s looking at the ball like it’s her mortal enemy.

“What? Are you scared of a baseball?”

“No.” She throws her shoulders back and tries to look insulted.

“Sophie.” She recoils again when I hold the ball up to her face. “You flinched when I threw my keys to you in my office that first day. I thought you were just in a hangover haze. Are you scared of things being thrown at you?”

“No!” She tries to keep eye contact with me. “Maybe.”

“Okay,” I say, trying hard not to laugh. “Why are you scared of things being thrown at you? Did you get hit in the head when you were a kid or something?”

Her cheeks start turning pink. “Yes, and they did it on purpose,” she says, crossing her arms.

“Who threw something at your head on purpose?” I’m somehow still managing not to smile. Her face is so serious.

“Don’t make fun of me.” She shoves me again. “It was my big brothers when I was like five. They threw a Nerf football at my head, and they haven’t stopped throwing stuff at me since then.”

“Do you want me to kick their asses?”

“Yes!” She nods her head vigorously. “Repeatedly.”

“Okay, I promise I’ll kick their asses, but in the meantime, let’s teach you how to catch.”

She leans back like I tried to slap her. “No!”

“Sophie, you need to learn how to catch things for normal life—like when someone tosses you your keys or your phone.”

“Why does anyone need to throw things at me?” Her brow furrows as she crosses her arms again. “Can they not hand them to me? We live in a civilized world, Seb.”

I shake my head and sigh. “Sit down, Sophie. I’ll teach you like I do for little kids.”

She looks at me suspiciously as I plop down on the field.

“Here.” I pat the ground in front of me. “Right in front of me—knees touching.”

“Don’t treat me like I’m five—”

“Stop acting like you’re five. I’m not asking you to catch Manny’s fastball. Sit.”

She looks back at Joe who’s hovering as usual. “What do you think, Joe?”

“I think that there are grown men who would pay thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, to play catch with Seb Miller—”

“And there are women who would pay millions to touch his knees.” Our shortstop, Alex, walks over. “Soph, after he teaches you how to catch, I’ll teach you how to field a grounder. Seb couldn’t do that if I slow-rolled it to him.”

“You better keep those eyes wide open the next time you cover second,” I say, looking up at Alex. “My arm’s feeling a little wild.”

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