The Dugout(15)

“Then those are people you don’t want to work with.” He wraps his arm around my shoulder again. “You are something special, Milly, and it’s about time you start to recognize it.”





“When you said I was buying you dinner, I wasn’t expecting you to buy out the entire dining hall.” Jerry stares at my loaded tray that I plopped on the table.

“I’m not dumb. I know how to take advantage of a situation when I need to.”

“Did you need to get three bags of chips?”

I quickly make work of opening one of the bags—sea salt and vinegar—and pop a chip in my mouth. “Yup.”

Shane laughs while eating his chicken enchiladas. “I don’t know why you’d expect anything less from Milly. She’s savage when it comes to things like this. Remember sophomore year when she made me buy her drinks at the bar for a month? She was drunk, not because she wanted to be, but out of spite.”

“I was so sick that entire month, but I needed to prove a point.”

“Point made. I had to work extra hours at the sporting goods store to support your short stint of drinking like a frat boy.”

“And aren’t you glad you learned your lesson?” I take a bite of my taco and then sip on my very large Sprite.

“Yup, I’ll never cross you again. I feel bad for your brothers. I can only imagine the childhood they had growing up with you.”

“I wasn’t easy on them, that’s for sure.”

“So have you run into the god of baseball since?” Shane asks.

I shake my head. “No, thank goodness.”

“Isn’t it weird that we’ve been here for three and a half years and it took that long for you to actually interact with him? And twice in one week? What are the odds?”

“Unfortunate ones,” I mutter.

“Please,” Jerry scoffs. “You totally have a crush on him.”

“What?” I sit up straight. “No, I don’t.”

“You should have seen her, Shane. She was all goo-goo eyes when she stepped up next to him. She could not stop staring at his chest.”

“That is not true,” I say—it was his eyes—“and did you not just learn your lesson, Jerry? I have no problem presenting you with the cold shoulder again.”

“You can’t double down on hate in one week, plus you’re always teasing us about some of the girl athletes we crush on.”

“That’s different,” I say, while lifting my taco to my mouth.

“How so?”

I bite down on the crunchy shell, chew, and then swallow before answering. “Because you actually have a shot at being with one of them. When have I ever been attractive to the male species? Have you ever seen me go on a date since we’ve known each other?”

“It’s because you’re too guarded to let anyone in,” Jerry says.

“And it wouldn’t hurt if you actually did something with your hair every once in a while,” Shane points out. “The low ponytail isn’t attracting anyone.”

“Hey.” I swat at Shane. “You try having this long hair. It’s impossible to work with. Plus, I braid it.”

“Yeah, you braid it or put it in a low ponytail. Have you ever thought about curling it?”

I chuckle. “I don’t even own a curling iron. I wouldn’t know how to work one if I wanted to. But that’s beside the point. Shouldn’t I want to be with a guy who’s attracted to my personality, not my looks?”

“Yes,” Jerry says, “but you also hide beneath these big clothes and massive amount of hair.”

“It’s because I don’t know how else to be,” I admit before I can stop myself. I set my taco down and rest my forehead on my hands.

“Milly.” Shane scoots closer and puts his arm around me. “It’s not a bad thing, being guarded, but you”—he pauses and then whispers—“uh . . . Carson Stone is staring at us.”

“What?” I snap as my stomach flips in on itself. I glance up just in time to see Carson with a tray of food and eyes set on me, walking toward a table of baseball players. When we make eye contact, I quickly duck away again. “Oh God, why?”

“He’s probably eyeing the feast you have in front of you made for seven grown men,” Jerry says, digging his grave just a little deeper.

“Shut it, Jerry,” I hiss and then lean into Shane. “Is he still looking? Please tell me he’s not still looking.”

“He just sat down—”

“Oh thank God.” I relax.

“But he’s still looking and he has a crease between his brow.” Shane snuggles in closer to me. “It looks like Mister I can’t hit a ball right now is jealous.”

“Are you high?” I whisper, ducking my head again, as if that will make me invisible. “He is not jealous. I’m not even close to his type. He’s probably wondering why I’m showing my face around the dining hall again after our embarrassing interaction.”

“Or he’s wondering why you’re sticking your face in Shane’s armpit,” Jerry points out.

“You could be his type. You don’t know.”

I laugh, shifting out of Shane’s armpit, because I might as well show a shred of self-respect. “Believe me, I’m not his type. I see the girls that hang around the locker room, looking for a stupid invitation inside. You know, the busty-bosomed ladies.”