The Girl I Was Before (Falling #3)(103)

Her hips sway, though, and I know that she’s found her swagger. I’d take that any day over her making this—any of this—easy.

“Wow, man. Your girl-crush is a bitch,” Eli says, taking another drink of his beer, looking at me over the rim. I think he’s expecting me to hit him, which I might if he were Casey. Instead, I laugh, because yeah, she’s an acquired taste. But she’s also a flavor I’d gladly get drunk on.

“That’s girl love, dude,” I say. “Girl…love.”



Paige



When he finally pulls up, I breathe and relax my clenching hands, suddenly aware of exactly how scared I was he wouldn’t show. I didn’t realize how badly I wanted him here until I got to the stadium and didn’t see him waiting. I sent Cass in without me, telling her Houston was running late. I pretended to know, but really I had no idea if he was coming or not. It was all just hope.

Hope and fairytales.

He’s dressed nice, and I almost lean into him when he steps up the curb alongside me, but stop myself before crossing the line. Giving in would be so easy.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says.

“It’s okay. I got your ticket,” I say, handing it to him, our hands barely touching. I still feel it. I feel it every time.

We make our way into the stands, finding my sister and Ty near the front on the first-base side, Rowe leaning over the wall, talking to Nate.

“So, scouts are here today, huh?” Houston asks. I smile and nod. Apparently, there are some big scouts here, and it’s all really exciting, and I’m thrilled for Nate. But all I can think about—all I care about—is figuring out how to navigate these feelings I have crushing my chest and how to get his hand, which is swinging so close to mine, to give in, to reach over and touch me, to hold on and to shake away my fears.

Personally, I think Nate has it easy with the scouts.

“Hey, you made it,” Cass says, walking up and hugging me. I know she really means Houston made it. I can also tell that we’re what she and Ty are talking about when she moves back to sit next to him. Cass isn’t very good at subtle, and she looks directly at us at least a dozen times while whispering. When Ty does the full lift and turn in his chair to look at us, it’s confirmed.

“Hey man, you want to save me from all this girl-talk over here? They’re determined to ruin baseball,” Ty calls to Houston.

“He’s just being a big baby,” Cass adds.

My phone in my lap, I keep my eyes on my email messages, pretending not to be listening, hoping Houston stays right where he is. I see him shake his head no, and I suck in my bottom lip to camouflage the enormous grin that wants to take up all real estate on my face.

“Whatcha reading?” he asks, leaning into me. God, his body feels warm.

“Email,” I say.

“You get email?” he asks.

“Uh…yeah. I employ several means of technology,” I say, scrolling through old messages about the student government application I filed last week.

“Sorry, I just thought you were all text and emoticons and junk,” he laughs.

“I was,” I say, dropping my phone back in my purse, using the movement as an excuse to run my leg against his, my heart thrilled with every single accidental-on-purpose touch. “Campaign business.”

I have to contain my smile again, and this time because I love the way Houston’s looking at me after what I just said. The right side of his lip raised, his cheek slightly dimpled. Damn…I just made him proud.

“You did it,” he says, half question, half statement.

“I did it,” I say. “I filed to become university council secretary. The election is next month. I even made posters.”

“Oh, I’m gonna need one of those,” he jokes. “Paige Owens, on a poster, with the word secretary. That’s…”

“You better not say that’s funny, you *,” I rib.

“Funny wasn’t quite the word I was thinking,” he says, eyebrows raised.

“Oh,” I blush.

“I mean…f*ck, man. Secretary. That’s like…a seriously hot image,” he continues.

“You know, it’s not that kind of secretary,” I say.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says. “’Cause now that’s the kind that’s in my head.”

His eyes aren’t really on me any more; instead, they’re grazing down the length of my leg, and it’s making me want to accidentally-on-purpose touch him again.

“How’s Leah?” I ask, our conversation now feeling familiar and comfortable. I’ve been dying to ask about her, about everything that’s happening, but I didn’t want it to be the only thing between us. I wanted today to be more than therapy.

“She’s good. Surprisingly,” he says, biting his lip, his teeth sawing back-and-forth on it while he thinks. “Or maybe not surprisingly. I don’t know; that girl is a lot stronger than I think. I know she doesn’t totally understand what’s happening, but she gets some of it. She uh…she punched a boy recently.”

“Well that’s always good,” I say.

Houston smiles.

“I thought you’d think so,” he says. “He called her babe.”