Double Play (Bases Book 3)

by Hazel Grace

  “Sawyer, let’s go,” Chuck bellows. She hesitates, still holding our intense gaze and then does what he says.

  I watch her walk out of the bedroom, but she doesn’t look back at me. No sign of hope or good faith that she’s doubting everything.

  However, I don’t know what the words “please don’t” mean when it comes to her, it’s a foreign language.

  Because all my mind is telling me to do is “keep trying.”

  Present day

  I would’ve thought that being an adult back in Freemont High would be so much different than my teen self. You know, since I don’t have to listen to teachers or deal with girls flocking around my locker and hunting me down everywhere else.

  Wrong.

  It’s worse because now I have adults telling me who can and can’t play on my fucking baseball team now.

  Principle LaFonte—just finally learned his name today—emailed me this morning to tell me that Jace can’t play in the Stevenson game this Friday due to his grades, suspended from the team until further notice.

  Which colors me fucking livid because isn’t that what Sawyer’s tutoring skills were for?

  So, on a Monday morning, with no coffee, a headache, and a mission to strangle the shit out of my nemesis, that I also want to fuck, as well as the stupid history teacher, I stride through the doors of Freemont High with a mission.

  Making my way to Mr. B’s old classroom, because I have no clue where this Mrs. Benalu is and it’d be shocking if the administration here would change around classrooms for each subject, I stare down kids that aren’t in their classrooms after the bell has rung. The stale air of the hallways mixed with cheap flower perfume and body odor fills my nostrils as I find Mrs. Benalu’s name engraved in a brown slate with white writing by Mr. B’s old door.

  I glance through the slim vertical window, looking at the front of the classroom to find Sawyer there, talking with her hands. Dressed in a light green dress that goes all the way to her feet with brown buttons that stop at the waist. She shoves her hands into two pockets in the front and keeps rattling off whatever she’s teaching or saying to the class.

  And fuck, she looks like a teacher that every teenage boy dreams of having.

  I snap my eyes shut, scattering those thoughts away from my mind. I’m here to talk about Jace not about how I’d love to taste her. There are more important things to talk about, like the fact that she hasn’t been telling me that Jace isn’t doing so hot and could lose the sight of some scouts because of it. I don’t want any of this to slip out or be put on his transcripts. It’s competitive out here, and I’m not going to let him miss out due to an oversight.

  My fist raps on the door, and I don’t wait to be called in, I just open it. Over twenty-some pairs of eyes land on me, and I glance over at them with a scowl to keep their damn attention to themselves.

  “Mr. Hayes,” Sawyer greets in a cheery, yet fake, tone. I don’t register the words at first, then snap my scrutiny to her.

  Right, we’re teachers.

  “Miss Boyd.” I force the words to come out pleasant and nonchalant, but she knows me too well for it to not reach her attention. Her brows furrow sightly followed by her eyes. “I need to speak with you briefly…please.”

  “Well, do you mind if—”

  “It’ll only be for a minute.” I hit her with a look that says, “We can do this in the middle of your classroom or in the hall. You pick.'' She tucks her chin into her chest and inhales.

  “Class, please read the rest of chapter fifteen and I’ll be right back.” I turn to exit out of the classroom, letting her follow me out.

  This is going to be the last time I leave anyone’s future in Sawyer’s hands. First me, now Jace, I think she’s pissed I teased her on the phone the other day with my raging erection and not giving her an opportunity to release the tension she looked like she was experiencing.

  I reach the middle of the hallway, glancing back and forth to see who was around before turning on my heels when I hear the door click behind her.

  “Bases,” I leer in a full-blown glower. “You didn’t tell me that Jace was going to get suspended from a game. Isn’t that what you’re tutoring him for?”

  Her brows knit. “Who said he was getting suspended from a game? I didn’t—”

  “I received an email this morning from Principle who-the-fuck-cares about how his grades aren’t sufficient enough to play.” I take a menacing step toward her. “You out of all people know how important every game is for these kids. Especially the ones who want to blow this town for something better.”

  “Jace is doing better,” she counters softly. “He’s focused, and his writing has greatly—”

  “Then what the fuck is he suspended for? Are you not reporting back to this history teacher on his progress?”

  “I am reporting his progress, this must be a huge misunderstanding.”

  “Fix it before Friday,” I snap, clenching my hands into fists. “Because I don’t have the time for your fuck-ups, teasing, or lack of speaking when it comes to other people’s futures. We all know how well you do with not giving everyone all the facts.” Sawyer’s cheeks flush red, and her eyes narrow in on me.

  My temper is starting to feed into hers, and I don’t give a fuck if we have it out right here in the middle of the hallway of this hell-hole school.

  We should’ve had it out here a long time ago under different circumstances and problems as kids.

  “I'll speak with Mrs. Benalu about it,” she replies, crossing her arms. “In the mean fucking time, email me with your concerns and don’t come busting up into my classroom. We might be in a high school but you’re not in high school anymore, Hayes.”

  “It’s not your classroom yet, teacher’s pet,” I taunt. “And you must mistake me, yet again, for someone that takes orders from fuckable redheads who don’t know how to make up their damn minds on what they want or apologize when they know they're in the wrong.”

  She makes a mistake and steps closer to me, within reaching distance. I battle back the compulsion to slam her into the metal lockers behind us because we don’t have the same leniency that we’d have if we were horny teenagers.

  “In the wrong?” she repeats.

  “Yes, Bases, in the fucking wrong.” She gestures with her hand for me to continue, but I’m not.

  This isn’t some stupid “we misread what was right in front of us” type shit. We both knew what this was, we were just too prideful to admit it out loud.

  “I don’t want to hear about wrong,” she rebukes. “When you don’t know what you saw or how it happened.”

  I hold my ground, not letting my brows furrow or the fact that I want to lift her up in my arms and remind her of the kiss we shared in the foyer of my mom’s house.

  In reality, this back and forth, the cat-and-mouse game we’ve been playing since we were just teenagers, it needs to end. Not only for my sanity but because I’m not going to chase her for yet another decade. It’s unhealthy, weird as fuck, and they don’t make an AA program for Sawyer Boyd obsessions.

  “I didn’t need glasses in high school, Bases. I know what the fuck I saw and heard. We’ve done a lot of wrongs to each other, Sawyer, but I’m not going to apologize for mine after you ripped my heart out of my chest.”

  The dismissal bell rings through the halls and students start flying out of classrooms to their next hour. Sawyer starts yelling at the kids leaving her classroom to finish reading whatever chapter they’re on because they're going to discuss it tomorrow. Her frown is for everyone to see, and I know it’s because I put it there.

  “Bases,” I snap, collecting her focus again. She looks back over at me, irritated and frazzled because she didn’t have her students set up for tomorrow. “Get Jace’s shit together by tomorrow. I need him for Friday.”

  She gives me a curt nod. “Yeah, I’ll talk to Mrs. Benalu later on today. I’m not sure what happened, to my knowledge he’s been doing fine.”

  I
don’t spend any more time on it, there’s no point. I can’t do anything until she fixes it, and I’m at her mercy right now.

  Yet the fuck again.

  Ten years ago

  “You’re not going to bail, are you?” Taylor asks me, pulling out what looks like diamond earrings and holding them to her ears. They dangle down to her chin and sparkle in the sunlight streaming through the window.

  “I want to,” I reply, picking at her parents’ comforter as I sit across from her on it. “But I won’t.”

  “Don’t,” she chides, eyeing me with a scowl. “It’s going to be fun. I promise.” I study the stitched palm trees, perfectly sewn into quilted fabric covering the end of the bed.

  The Freemont High Sweetheart dance was the stupidest thing I’ve heard of yet since I moved here. It wasn’t Valentine’s Day, we were in March, and the cheerleaders have been marketing this thing out for over the last two weeks. Selling tickets, wearing stupid pinned hearts on their clothing, and announcing in so many words that if you didn’t attend, you were a loser.

  I’d wear the loser pin proudly, but they didn’t sell those.

  “Here, try this on.” Taylor hands me over a silver necklace with an encrusted circular pendant. “It’ll match with any of the dresses we try on today.”

  “I can’t wear this,” I state, taking it from her. “It’s your mom’s.”

  “She said we could wear whatever we wanted,” she dismisses, pulling out a pair of gold studs from the jewelry box. “She likes when her jewelry gets worn. She doesn’t wear it much.”

  “But I—” She bounces off the bed and walks to her mom’s closet.

  “I think she has some shoes in here we can wear too.”

  “Tay, don’t you want to go with a guy or something?” I convey. “It’s a dance, after all, and I’m not going to slow dance with you.”

  Taylor looks over her shoulder and smirks at me. “Why? You’d look amazing in my arms.”

  I roll my eyes. “You’re lucky you’re loved so much by me. I’ve had to put in extra shifts at King Kone to buy a stupid dress.”

  A sudden knock pings on the bedroom door pulling my attention to Taylor’s mom, Sandy, standing in the doorway with a warm smile watching us raid her things. Well, Taylor is doing the raiding, I’m just getting told to wear things.

  “Girls having fun?” she asks. Her short brown hair and slim build matches Taylor’s, reminding me of how much I look and act like my father.

  “Yeah,” Taylor calls out from the closet. “Mom, do you have those nude heels still?”

  “Look in the back,” Sandy says. “Could one of you take some water out to the guy mowing the grass, he looks like he’s about to die out there.”

  “Give me two seconds,” Taylor calls out.

  “I’ll do it,” I offer, pushing myself off the bed. I’m uncomfortable going through all her things because my mom would skin me alive if I touched her jewelry.

  Sandy keeps her grin glued to her face and hands me the water bottle she’s holding. “Thanks, sweetheart. What size shoe do you wear?”

  “Um, depends on the brand. An eight, mostly.”

  “I’ll see what I can help dig up.” I give her a weak grin, walking out of the bedroom and down their hallway coated in light blue paint with pictures of Taylor’s softball career since she was a little kid.

  Turning to the left, I walk through their modest living room and out the front door, where I can hear the humming of a lawn mower in the front. On the far side of the yard is a boy pushing it, shirtless, the sweat glistening off his back.

  For it being late March, it’s already warm, as I step off the small porch and walk across the grass just to have my throat tighten.

  Colson turns the mower around to make another row across the yard and...I’ve never seen him shirtless.

  Ever.

  Thought about it, just never thought I’d see it.

  The muscles in his arms flex as he pushes the equipment, his skin is coated in perspiration, and he looks...hot.

  Figuratively and physically.

  His yellow T-shirt is hung over his left shoulder as he focuses on mowing, his jeans hug his waist while his flat chest and stomach are on full display for me.

  Damn.

  I force myself to continue walking, realizing that I look like crap because my hair is thrown up in a messy bun contraption and the shirt I’m wearing is old. I look down to remember what it even was.

  An old Aladdin shirt with Jasmine on it from when I was like nine.

  Freaking awesome.

  Colson must see me out of the corner of his eye because he glances over and stops, letting his hands off the mower and killing it.

  Just keep walking.

  “Bases,” he greets, the corners of his lips lifting. His eyes swallow me whole, down my face to my embarrassing shirt and legs.

  How he has no shame in checking me out when I’m practically burning at the thought of looking at him longer than a few seconds is beyond me.

  I’m going to stop doing people favors because it literally gets me nowhere, apparently, and now in the middle of a yard with a shirtless Colson Hayes.

  “Hey,” I push out of my mouth. I watch him pull his T-shirt off his shoulder and wipe the sweat off his face. “Taylor’s mom wanted to give you a water.”

  “Wasn’t your idea?” he asks, cleaning underneath his chin while his eyes fall back on me. “That sucks.”

  “I didn’t know you were out here.”

  “Damn, I thought taking my shirt off would’ve had you and Taylor gawking out the window at me from behind the curtains.” My next inhale is staggered as he finally takes the water from me, twisting the cap off. “Not to your liking, Bases?”

  He brings the bottle to his lips and takes a sip, waiting for a response. I legit don’t have one that I will verbally release from my mouth. He already got a full summary at the party we were at last week and most of it I should’ve never admitted to.

  I blame it on the alcohol.

  So instead, I just say, “You look fine.”

  He smiles, taking my words an entirely different way. “Thank you.” He nods toward the house. “What are you doing, just hanging out?”

  “Yeah, girl stuff.”

  “You going to the dance this Friday?” He takes another swig of water and keeps the spotlight of his attention on me.

  I really don’t want to go. I don’t want to be in the same room with Gavin, because I’m sure he’ll be there. I don’t want to buy a dress with the money I have saved up and for my parents to fork out money for a dumb dance. But I promised Taylor, and I also made a pact with myself to enjoy the rest of the year.

  Single.

  “I don’t think so,” I lie, shoving my hands in the back pockets of my shorts. “Not really my thing.”

  He raises a brow. “But college parties are now?”

  “Does it matter?” I shoot back.

  It’s annoyingly stupid that he thinks he can preach at me for going to a party? The same party that he was at? He’s done more crap in one night than I’ve ever done in my whole life.

  The classic bad boy, the rebel with a blatant cause of leaving this town to make a new life for himself. I should be the last of his so-called worries at this point. Especially with less than two months of our senior year left.

  Colson props his arm on the handle of the mower and narrows his brow at me. “Yeah, it kinda does.”

  I shrug and copy his look. “It shouldn’t. I can take care of myself.”

  “It shouldn’t,” he admits, pinning me with his classic “I don’t give a fuck” look. “But it does.”

  “Well…it shouldn’t.”

  “I dragged you down a hallway. Imagine what would’ve happened if another guy would—”

  “I don’t need a stranger danger speech,” I seize, feeling embarrassed that I let him drag me at all that night without putting up a fight.

  Again.

  That I always let him do whatev
er he wants without too much fight. I would never allow Gavin or anyone else to do that to me, so what makes him so special?

  I should’ve slapped him in the face or kneed him in the nuts.

  “Enjoy your water, Colson.” I start to turn, but he makes a move that has me halting in my spot. He strides toward me, a high school god alluding all the confidence in the world.

  I’m an easy target, a girl who has no idea what the hell she’s doing. They didn’t teach this in middle school, how to bat off boys who just want to get down your pants so they brag about it later.

  Screw the stranger danger talk, how about the persistent boy sermon?

  “Thanks for the water, Bases,” he says, stopping two feet away from me. It’s far enough to announce to prying eyes in the neighborhood that this is just a normal conversation between friends but close enough for my body to start straying toward his. “How about you go to the dance with me?”

  A nervous chuckle escapes my lips.

  Did he just ask me out?

  Why did I want to blurt out a yes?

  And have I lost my ever-loving mind?

  Yes.

  Yes.

  Oh, and yes. He did.

  “Um, no,” I reply but quickly follow up with, “But thank you. I’m good without the drama.”

  Why am I lying? If he goes, he’s going to see you, dummy.

  “You’ll be missing out. You’d look good as fuck in a dress.” He eyes my boobs. “You’re wearing the hell out of that Aladdin shirt.” My arms immediately cross over my chest to cover up the cracked applique. It’s been washed over a thousand times and should’ve been thrown out years ago.

  “I wish I could say the same.”

  Lies.

  He perks a brow. “You don’t like me without my shirt on?”

  “Nope. Not seeing the big deal.”

  Ladies and gentleman, the Oscar for the best liar in a real-life scenario is, drum roll, Sawyer Boyd.

  Colson smirks. “Sure you don’t. That’s why you haven’t stopped eye fucking me since you—”

  “I’m not eye fucking you,” I retort.