When Our Worlds Collide (Our Worlds #1)(3)

“Kennedy. What’s yours?” I ask pretending as if I’m clueless to his popularity. I throw my hands on my hips for good measure trying to stand my ground, seeming more confident than what I actually am.

Graham’s eyebrows crease together. “You’re fucking with me, right?” He laughs straight from his gut like I just told him the funniest joke he’s ever heard.

My body’s reaction to his laughter is infuriating. Some laughs are simple, understated. You don’t think twice about those kinds of laughs. Graham’s is hypnotizing and mind clouding. How is it possible to be laughed at and still find the person insanely attractive? I hate myself right now, which explains the sweaty palms and the heat rising up my cheeks and my hostile reaction.

“What makes you think that I have any clue as to who you are when you didn’t even know I went to school with you?” I ask with clear confusion. Graham looks at me with a dumb struck expression that mirrors my own. His jaw nearly bounces off the floor as it falls open, quickly shutting with his slip in demeanor. “That’s what I thought.”

I turn on my heels leaving him standing alone in the empty hallway staring at my receding shadow. There’s a painfully obvious pep in my step. There’s a sense of pride that I stood up for myself. I never speak up or out of turn, especially to someone like Graham. My job is to fall into the backdrop, to not be heard or seen. For a split second, I got to feel what other girls must feel around guys like him. Confident.

I pull open the door to Mr. Randall’s classroom, flicking on the lights to try to find the batteries I need for my camera. As I tear open the packaging, I reach up to turn the light off and run into a rock solid wall. I instinctively throw my hands up to brace myself. Looking up I see an amused Graham smirking down at me as I pull my hands away from his solidly built chest. Clearly he’s worked for what he’s got.

“Don’t you have a game to play in?” I look at my watch with pure irritation delighted with myself with how on the ball I am with the witty comebacks. This never happens. “You’re going to be late, you know.”

“I’m Graham Black, it’s nice to meet you,” he says reaching his hand out to shake mine ignoring my ploy to get rid of him.

He’s standing close enough that I can see every eyelash as he blinks down at me waiting for a response. Making an attempt to walk around him, he quickly slides to the side blocking my exit. I try my luck once more but run right into his chest. Putting my hands up in defense only connects me with his chest again. Flustered doesn’t begin to explain how I’m feeling.

Quit touching him then.

That’s twice now.

I can see the contours of Graham’s chest and the ripples of his abs underneath his jersey that’s not fully buttoned. Nothing could have prepared me for feeling them through his clothes. I’m about as innocent as they come, but even I’m finding myself lusting over the idea of ripping his uniform off to expose everything he’s poorly hiding under the tight cotton fabric.

He’s tall, standing nearly a foot taller than me---at least it feels that way. Being this close to him makes me feel small and overpowered. I wonder if everyone feels that way around him, a slight fear that’s a fraction exhilarating at the same time. I’ve seen the way people gravitate around him as he marches down the hallway. It’s strange the power he has over this town.

“It’s nice to meet you. Now can you please get out of my way?” I ask with my teeth grinding together. Secretly, I’m amused by this little game we’re playing. I don’t understand it, but it is the first time someone who doesn’t wear his shirt tucked in showed me any attention. However misplaced the attention may be.

I can feel his eyes on me as I walk out of the classroom through the hallway and out the back doors. On my way to the field, I repeatedly tell myself not to look back. I know he’s close by. The clicking of his cleats on the asphalt gives him away for the second time today. As I reach the field, Violet looks up from her phone to see Graham gliding by me. Yes, I said gliding. I can feel him before I can see him. A shiver unnaturally running up my spine as he draws close.

“Stand over there, Ken,” he whispers softly pointing to the fence along first base. His lips are distractingly close to my ear. “Since you don’t seem to know who I am, I guess I’ll just have to show you.”

I turn to face him with what I’m sure is a look of awe and contentment. He’s already walking out to the pitcher’s mound. How does he move so gracefully? I can’t take my eyes off of him as he throws out a few practice pitches. I slide the batteries into the camera snapping a few shots of Graham as I make my way over to Violet.

“What was that all about? More importantly why was Graham Black talking to you? Did I see him whisper something in your ear?” Violet rattles off the questions scanning her inspecting green eyes between the two of us. I should be offended by her reaction. I’m not. I’m too confused to be upset with her.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” I answer shrugging my shoulders as I put the camera back up to my face. I tell myself to point the lens anywhere else, at any other player.

With no surprise, I watch Graham through the eye of my camera the entire nine innings. There is something about him that makes it hard to look away. It’s like watching him in slow motion. As if his life depends on every pitch he throws. The ball dances from his hand as he releases it from his grasp. I know right then and there that he’s a rarity.