Hissy Fit (The Southern Gentleman #1)(18)

I’d met his sister on the way back to the game, and she’d offered me a place to sit next to her and her husband.

I’d taken her up on the offer, but only after making sure that Morgan could wheel his wheelchair up next to us.

I was surprised to see that almost every single player that’d been involved in the earlier fiasco had been riding the bench, and even more surprised when Ezra’s sister had explained that Ezra had benched every single one of them—senior players included.

And, from what I’d gathered as I’d sat and watched, the players, as well as the parents, had not been happy.

Then again, after the way that the seniors had acted, I didn’t see the problem.

The first ‘look at that loser’ that had come out of their mouth had made me stiffen. The ‘leave him down there and let him piss himself in humiliation’ had been what had sparked my temper.

Those boys knew better. They knew better, yet they’d hurt Morgan anyway. And I was disappointed in them.

I was biting my lip and contemplating running away when I saw the distinctive shadow of Ezra making his way out of the fieldhouse.

He had a pair of khakis and a navy blue polo shirt on, and his gaze was directed solely on me.

I barely contained the urge to lick my lips.

When Ezra was in high school, he’d been a gorgeous boy, but now? Seeing him as an adult? Holy shit. He didn’t have anything special on, and honestly, he wasn’t wearing anything much nicer now than he had when he was younger…but he’d definitely filled out in all the best ways.

His biceps were bigger, his jaw was more chiseled, his beard…wow. And those lips of his? I wanted nothing more than to press my lips to his—then again, that had never changed.

“You ready to go grab something to eat?” he asked, sounding tired and worn out.

I tilted my head and studied him. “I’m ready…but you don’t look like you are.”

His lips twitched up at the corners, but a smile didn’t grace his lips like I’d been hoping for.

“I…do you want to go to my place and have some pizza?” he asked hopefully.

Did I? Was I ready for that step?

I knew that he was just being nice, and honestly, what did I have to lose here? This was my teenage fantasy come to life. So what if he was being sweet?

“I could go for pizza,” I admitted. “As long as you want me there, that is.”

The smile that graced his lips was small this time, but most definitely there.

“You want to follow me?” he asked. “Or I could drive and bring you back to your car later tonight.”

“I can drive,” I lied. I wanted to ride with him more than I wanted to take my next breath. “You’ll just have to drive slow. My night driving skills are a little less awesome than my day ones.”

He snorted. “I think you should ride with me, then.”

I barely contained my excitement.

“Okay,” I breathed.

He walked around to the passenger side of his truck and opened the door, offering me his hand.

I took it and climbed up, very aware of how close he was the entire time.

Once my ass hit the seat, he stared at the hole in my pants, just over my knee, for a few long seconds, before his face turned up and his eyes met mine.

“I had a really bad day,” he told me. “And I’m glad that you stayed.”

Then he touched one fingertip to the skin that was poking out of the hole and then backed up before closing the door softly.

I swallowed and felt my belly fill with butterflies.

He rounded the hood of the truck and hopped into his seat easily, automatically reaching for his seat belt as he turned to survey me.

“You okay?” he questioned.

I swallowed and nodded. “I did tell you that they think I’m bad luck…”

He snorted. “Somebody tells you that enough, I’m sure at some point you’re going to start believing it. A person isn’t bad luck…though, just sayin’, baseball players do consider their superstitions very important to them.”

I snorted. “Oh, I know that.”

His brows rose. “You do?”

I nodded. “My brother played.”

“Your brother?”

I nodded. “He, uh, died when I was eighteen. He was two years younger than me in school. His name was Gavin.”

Ezra’s face instantly changed.

He’d heard about Gavin.

Everybody in the town of Gun Barrel had heard about Gavin.

You only had to live here for a week to find out what happened to Gavin.

Why?

Because Gavin was the boy that died in the middle of a baseball game his junior year, and we had a sculpture of him in the middle of the city park, and a plaque at the school, as well as a wing at the hospital dedicated to him.

“That was your brother?”

I nodded.

“I heard about a boy that died, and his parents were the ones to buy us the HeartGuard shirts,” Ezra murmured.

I felt my stomach tighten.

That’d been my brother’s contribution—my eldest brother, Croft, anyway.

Gavin had been playing mid-season. He’d come up to bat his second time, and the pitcher had thrown a wild pitch and struck him in the chest. The ball had made contact with his heart at just the right moment—according to doctors—and his heart had stopped.