Swing (Landry Family #2)(18)
“Will you have dinner with me tomorrow?”
I shouldn’t. I could get sucked into this vacuum faster than I ever imagined if I don’t watch it.
“I don’t know about dinner,” I tell him.
“Okay,” he gulps. “What about . . . let’s play catch.”
“What?” I laugh.
He grins. “Meet me back here tomorrow. We’ll play catch. You can’t even consider that a date,” he points out as I start to object. “I’ll bring two gloves and a ball and you just have to show up.”
I want to say no. Sort of. But there’s no saying no to the look on his face.
“What time?” I ask.
“Four-thirty?”
“See you then,” I say, sliding into the driver’s seat before I agree to anything else. As I drive off, I see him in the rearview mirror looking like the smug Lincoln Landry I know.
Danielle
“I CAN’T BELIEVE I’M DOING this.” Climbing out of the car, I try to suppress the excitement that’s whirled in my belly all day. I’ve thought about him since I left here last night—the way he touched me, smiled at me, seemed honestly interested in what I had to say. He’s trouble. Deep, deep trouble.
Spying him near the picnic table from last night, I can’t help the smile on my face as I approach. He has a glove on one hand and is tossing a ball in the air with the other. When he senses me coming, he smiles wide.
“I was starting to think you backed out on me,” he laughs.
“You wish,” I tease, tugging at my hoodie. “Did someone tip you off about my skills?”
“I don’t need someone to tell me you’re skilled,” he jokes, leaning in and kissing my cheek. “Now put on this glove and let’s get started before I start thinking about all your sundry talents.”
He stands a few feet away from me and tosses me a ball. The leather cracks as I catch it and whizz it back to him. His eyes light up. “You weren’t kidding. You have played before.”
“Yeah,” I laugh, rolling my eyes. “I played four years of varsity in high school.”
“Impressive.” He sends one back to me and I toss it back to him. “What else did you do in high school? I had you pegged for a cheerleader.”
“God, no,” I laugh. “I played softball and volleyball. I didn’t love either one, to be honest, but my parents insisted I do something with my time.”
“How can you not love baseball? Or softball, I guess.”
I shrug, catching one a little harder. He seems surprised. “I think I would’ve liked it if there hadn’t been pressure on me to be good at them,” I say. “I had private coaches and camps and seminars. It was just too much.”
“What would you rather have been doing?”
“Painting, maybe,” I offer. “I always wanted to try swimming. I loved watching their competitions. I would’ve sucked though. My boobs are too big.”
“Nice problem to have,” he teases, making me laugh again.
“What about you? Did you love just baseball?”
He considers this, his features darkening for a long moment. “I do love it. I always have. I liked football too but it was so physical and I didn’t want to tear my body up like that.”
“That would’ve been a shame,” I smirk.
He catches my toss and winces just a little. “I was better at baseball anyway. It was my thing. In our family, you have to have something you’re known for, and baseball was all I really had.”
“So if you’re a nerd and aren’t good at anything, what happens in your family?”
“You’re Graham.”
This must be a joke of some sort because he bursts out laughing. Although I have no idea why, I’m laughing too. Our voices meld together in the air, his Southern twang and my girly giggle, and I love the way it sounds.
Once we settle down, our game of toss continues. Back and forth the ball goes, a comfortable silence between us. After the fifth or sixth throw, I notice a slight cringe around his eyes.
“Hey,” I say, holding the ball. “Does your shoulder hurt?”
“It always hurts some.”
“Let’s stop. This can’t be good for you.”
A shy smile touches his lips. He looks at me in a way he hasn’t before, like something has shifted between us. “This is the best therapy I’ve had yet.”
“If you mean practicing, it’s not,” I insist. “Not if it hurts.”
I’m not sure what I said, but he laughs. “Gotta push through the pain sometimes, Dani.”
“And you have to rest sometimes too, Landry,” I sigh.
He holds his glove up and I throw it back to him, gently this time. The thought of him going through the motions pushing through pain hurts my heart. I wonder how many times he’s tried to push through injuries and discomfort for another play or another win.
As if he reads my mind, he shakes his head. “I know my limits. I push as hard as I can and stop when I have to. It’s a balance because you know you have physical limitations, yet there are all these expectations,” he gulps. “It’s just a part of the job.” He reads my face and his features lighten. “Besides, I’ve prepared for this my whole life.”