This Is Falling(71)

I turn around to walk backward to answer him, doing my best to fall somewhere between fast and slow with my walk because, hell, I don’t want my pitchers hating me. “Looking forward to it, Tom. I’ll see you at sex.”

Motherf*cker. I just said sex. I said sex…to Rowe’s dad! And there is no mistaking it, and he knows it’s what I said, and Rowe’s eyebrows could not possibly be any higher on her forehead. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. I pull the mask down—thank god I’m a catcher—and turn around like I did nothing wrong. Maybe he’ll think it’s all in his head. Either way, that was easily the worst win-over-the-dad move ever. I better play well today for this man, otherwise I might as well just hand over the bat and let him hit me with it at our sex-o’clock dinner.





One walk and three doubles against one of the best teams in the country is a pretty decent showing—I just hope it was good enough to erase my blunder. We lost by two, but Florida State is coming off of a College World Series year, so I feel pretty satisfied.

I shower and pack up my stuff, then head out to catch up with Ty. My only saving grace is the fact that he wasn’t there to witness while I put my foot in my mouth.

“Nice game, yo. Burgers? Sally’s?” he asks.

I pull my phone from my pocket to check the time and notice a message from Rowe. “Yeah, that works. I wanna eat light though. I’m going to dinner with Rowe’s parents tonight,” I say, keeping my phone in my hand so I can remember to read Rowe’s text.

“So, what does light mean? You gonna order some salad or shit?” Ty asks; his brow all furrowed like I just told him I wanted to eat dirt.

“No, I’m just saying let’s eat now, early. And I’ll skip the fries,” I say, shaking my head at him.

“Ah, okay. Order fries anyway. I’ll eat your fries,” he says, pushing ahead of me to the crosswalk. “Oh, and hey. What’s this shit?”

Ty hands me his phone while we cross the street, and I swipe the message screen open to see a picture of Cookie with a ransom message. I almost bust a gut with laughter right then and there, but I manage to hold it together.

It reads: If you want to see me ever again, you’ll be sure to wear the tutu waiting for you in your mailbox on Halloween.

Rowe…is a genius. What she doesn’t know, though, is that my brother will totally wear that tutu. He’ll f*cking own that tutu and rock it with a full on ballerina leotard to prove a point. But either way, I’m going to love watching it all play out.

“Beats me,” I say, handing the phone back to him.

“It’s Cass. And Rowe, I bet. Those two better be sure they’re ready. I’m going to rock this ballerina shit! And when I get Cookie back, I’m going to pay them back so hard.”

He can’t see me laughing behind him, but my brother is dead serious. To see a twenty-two year old deliver a message so earnestly—and utter the word cookie in the same breath—is something only Ty Preeter can pull off and still look like a man. Barely—but still like a man.

I trail behind him a few more steps so I can check my message from Rowe.

Rowe: Sex?

I wince at first, but then grin.

Me: Is that an offer?

Rowe: No, dumbass! It’s the very last word you said to my father.

Me: Yeah…about that.

Rowe: You were free and clear! What the hell happened?

Me: Do you think he noticed?

Rowe: Let me play the scene out for you after you walked away. Dad: Did he just say sex? Me: Uh, I don’t think so. Mom: No, I’m pretty sure he did. He said sex. Dad: Yeah, that’s what I thought I heard, too, but I wasn’t sure. I’m glad you heard it. Me: dying, looking under seats, hoping there is enough room for my body. Mom: I can see where you could make that mistake. Six, sex, six, sex, six-sex. Yeah, it’s a tricky slip… shall I go on?

Me: Sorry.

She doesn’t write back right away this time, and now I start to feel like an even bigger *. I am single-handedly self-destructing this whole damn thing—I’ll be lucky to make it to dinner. Ty and I exit the elevator and head to our room when I feel my phone buzz in my pocket and I pull it back out, hoping like hell it’s Rowe with some witty comeback.

Rowe: Waiting.

Huh?

It buzzes again, this time with a photo, and I can tell she’s not wearing anything because I can see her bare shoulders, the smooth skin of her neck and her lips, which are seriously sucking on her finger? Oh. Hell.

“Hey, I’m gonna go hang with Rowe instead,” I say, turning away from Ty without even looking.

“Dude! I’m hungry!” he says.

“Then go eat,” I say, knowing my brother would do the same damn thing to me in this situation.





Thank god for baseball. I’m sure I’m not the first to think those very words, but I truly mean it right now because for the last thirty minutes, I have been absorbed in an intense baseball discussion with Rowe’s father, and he seems to be rapt by everything I say. If I can just stay on the topic of baseball for the rest of their time here, I should be able to come through this thing with Tom Stanton having a good opinion of me—despite my very serious attempts at self-sabotage.

“I’m really looking forward to seeing how you all handle LSU tomorrow. We should be able to watch most of the game before we have to leave,” Tom says. I feel Rowe’s hand squeeze mine under the table, and when I turn to her, she smiles—that soft, reassuring, proud kind. I’ve somehow come back out on top. “Curious why you didn’t decide to attend LSU…being from Louisiana and all?”