The Dugout(42)

Chuckling, he says, “You think I smell nice, huh?”

“Decent. It’s not BO.”

“So you’re saying I’m a step up from body odor?”

“A small one,” I tease.

“Uh-huh. You know there’s only so much busting of my balls I can take.” From the playful lilt to his voice, I know he’s not serious.

“Poor baby, do you need me to coddle them?”

Silence.

Wait . . . what did I say?

Did I offer to coddle his testicles?

I think back to what I said and yup, would you look at that, I offered to nuzzle his junk.

Oh, sweet Jesus.

“I mean, not your balls. Not balls, coin sack. Ugh, no. Gross. No one says that. Your uh, your man dangles.”

“Man dangles?” he asks.

Oh.

My.

God.

Humiliation washes over me.

“Oh God, did I say that? My brother Rian calls them his dangles, but I don’t want to call them that. I don’t want to call them anything really, but now that I think about it, Sean calls them dangles, Rian calls them his weighted penis curtains. Oh . . . I think I just threw up in my mouth. Both of those terms are gross. So, let’s go with testicles. Testies. I don’t want to motorboat your testies.”

More silence.

“Man testies,” I mutter, slapping my hand to my head.

Holy hell, what is wrong with me?

When he doesn’t say anything, I start to sweat. My back, my armpits, my legs, my upper lip, they all break out in a sweat, and I start wondering why my dorm mattress hasn’t swallowed me whole yet.

Finally, he says, “Man testies, huh?”

“I . . . I think I’m dead.”

“If you were dead, you wouldn’t be able to talk to me.”

“Then this is a bad dream.”

“I’m afraid it’s not. This is very much real life and yes, in fact, you did offer to coddle my balls.”

I swallow hard. “I was afraid of that. I didn’t mean to say to, uh, utter such . . . promises.”

“I gathered that from your recovery, or lack thereof.” He chuckles. “And here I was worried that you weren’t awkward enough; you just proved me wrong.”

“Why would you worry about me not being awkward enough?” I ask, kicking off my covers from my totally sweaty body.

“Because, Milly, I told you I liked different, didn’t I?”

Far too many times.





“Are you headed back to your dorm?”

I toss the last ball in the bucket and look up at Carson, who has his hat on backward and the hem of his shirt dabbing at his brow, revealing his stacked and corded abs.

Good Lord. I would wreck the shocks in my car if I drove over those things.

Not to mention the V of his waist that dips below his black athletic shorts. There’s no questioning my attraction to him, it’s there in spades and it’s frustrating, because in moments like these, where he’s just acting normal, himself, I get hot and bothered from a little thing like lifting his shirt up. It’s embarrassing, especially when I know my face turns bright red.

Averting my eyes, I make my way to my backpack, trying to cool myself off so he doesn’t notice.

“Uh, I was going to grab something from Lakeview first.”

“Dinner?” He comes up behind me and lifts the netting of the cages, his masculine deodorant surrounding me.

He smells so nice, like a yummy man. Not the best description, but I can’t think of any other way to describe it. I could bury my nose in his armpit and be happy about it—odd as that sounds.

“Yeah, dinner and then some studying.”

“Do you have a lot to read tonight?”

I grab my backpack and sling it over my shoulders, feeling a little cooler as I take a quick drink from my water bottle. “Just my usual stuff. I like to keep up as much as possible. With finals looming, I want to make sure I’m as prepared as possible.”

“Makes sense.” He slings his backpack over his shoulders as well, and we both head out of the cages and down the open hallway toward the exit. “Think you have some time to share a bite with me? I’m starving, and I was going to head up to Lakeview as well.”

Dinner with Carson?

Uhh . . .

I mean, yeah, I want to spend more time with him, but now that my nerves are shot whenever I’m around him, I have a feeling I’ll turn into a fumbling idiot if I don’t have a bucket of balls in front of me to keep me distracted.

But it’s not like I can say no, as we’re both going to the same place.

So I awkwardly say, “Uh, yeah, sure, of course, that would be delightful.”

Delightful?

He chuckles and wraps his arm around my shoulders, pulling me in close and then runs his hand over the top of my head, jiggling my hat until he releases me and continues to walk to the exit.

Did he just . . . give me an open-palm noogie?

Just punch me in the boob right now and end my misery.

I don’t know what’s worse, saying “that would be delightful” or having Carson treat me like his little brother.

Actually, I do know what’s worse, the latter. Easily.

A noogie.

Ughhhh. I cannot even recall how many noogies my brothers have given me over the years. Me, their little sister.