Double Play (Bases Book 3)

by Hazel Grace

  “Well, I wish you would. It makes this conversation a whole lot more interesting.”

  “Sawyer, let’s go!” Taylor clamors behind me, beating my blood from making my cheeks flare into a blush. “I don’t want all the dresses to be bought up.”

  Shit.

  Colson’s brows raise, catching one of my several lies in this conversation. “Not going?”

  “Moral support,” I pledge, squeezing my arms around my body tighter.

  “Hey Col,” Taylor greets from beside me. She tucks her hand underneath my folded arms and possessively keeps me close to her. “Giving a free show out to old lady, Robinson, across the street again?”

  Colson glances at her before landing his attention back to me. “Just doing my civic duties by giving everyone free eye candy.”

  “Always a giver.” Taylor tugs lightly on my arm. “Alright, girl, let’s go. You’re picky as hell with clothes. If you had it your way, you’d wear a tunic and scapular and go as a nun.”

  “No, I wouldn—” Colson’s amused look stops me. I’m caught red-handed and, thanks to my best friend, she just unknowingly called it out.

  “See you at the dance then, Bases,” he vows, walking backwards toward the lawnmower. “Can’t wait to see what you pick out.”

  No. I don’t want him seeking me out.

  Taylor drags me away from Colson’s magnetic pull, toward her mom’s SUV, where she’s already in the driver’s seat. My heart skips a beat, beads of sweat form on my forehead, and I can feel a twinge of a panic attack forming in my chest.

  I’ll take that tunic and scapular now.

  Ten years ago

  I don’t like school dances. They’re an ongoing train of females batting their eyelashes at me, a combination of girls getting stressed about being asked out, crying in corners with their friends huddled around them because their crush asked someone else.

  I’ve never seen more girls sob since Jess from the Gilmore Girls didn’t end up with whatever that girl’s name was at the end of the season.

  It was dumb as fuck.

  However, this would be the first year I’m going stag, only because I didn’t feel like picking a girl up, meeting her parents, buying a corsage, and doing all the stupid ass shit dates did when, clearly, I wasn’t going to date them.

  So Ben and I go together, on a mission, a stupid one but one nonetheless. Over the course of the last few weeks, he’s been hung up on Library Lauren, who allegedly screwed some dude at Liam’s party, and I’ve been enlisted to scout out her movements. So, in a way, I’m playing Sherlock Holmes with him, figuring out who this chick fucked. But I was here for a secret mission entirely of my own.

  I wanted to see Sawyer, and to say that we don’t talk is an understatement. She continues to avoid me like a worldwide illness to the point where I’m starting to forget what color her eyes are under the fluorescent school lighting.

  I shouldn’t care. Why should I? Why I continue to have daily, repeated reminders of why I need to leave Sawyer alone still echoes in my brain, but it’s different now—so fucking different.

  She’s single, open season to a bunch of Gavin and I wannabes who are foaming at the mouth to kiss, lick, and taste her skin. Maybe it’s my pride that’s getting in the way since she publicly dismissed me at Moonlight Ridge by making out with Gavin, fucking with my arrogance and self-pride. A straight kick in the ass that I didn’t and wasn’t always going to get what I wanted.

  I’m like a two-year-old who keeps whining and nagging to get the rainbow lollipop at the store, and Sawyer is every color and shade that I want to sample on.

  And since I’ve continued on the path of self-destruction with my game plan of leaving this town and not getting involved with Sawyer and her scrapbooks, I pulled out the suit my dad bought for me and wore his dress shoes. I finished it off with a royal blue suit pocket, something Dad handed off to me when I went to my first middle school dance. I can imagine him patting me on the back, telling me to have fun and to watch that idiot Gavin.

  It makes me wonder what he would think of Sawyer. How kind she is, to everyone, but me, and suggest that she’d be good for me. Keep me grounded, not letting fame or fortune get to my head. She’s doing a phenomenal job with knocking me down a few pegs already. She’s practically hired.

  Ben and I walk into the gym entrance, pink, red, and white cutouts of hearts draping over the entrance. It’s past Valentine’s Day, the cheerleaders were in charge of decorations this time because they’re exploiting this stupid obsession about wearing everything with hearts on it. Socks, shirts, jewelry, little purse-backpack looking things.

  And holy shit the gym is covered in them.

  They are plastered all over the white walls, hanging from the basketball nets, and strung all the way to the other side. And, go figure, “Crazy in Love” by Beyonce is playing off the speakers.

  “Please tell me you brought your dad’s flask,” I intone next to Ben, taking in the crowd.

  Girls are adorned in sparkly dresses, guys in suits or dress shirts with slacks. A long line of tables are on one side of the gym, covered in food and punch bowls. Teens stand around the center of the dance floor, staring at the few people dancing to the music, but probably eye fucking their crushes on the other side of the gym.

  This is like a bad scene of an 80’s movie.

  “You bet your ass I did,” Ben quips. He’s been regretting his decision of dragging me here ever since we got into my truck, while I’m deploring the fact that I agreed.

  Sawyer doesn’t want to see me, talk to me, be in the same room with me, and I’m going to make a total asshole out of myself tonight. I’m almost positive.

  Another public display, more than likely, of her rejecting me a second time to go down in the yearbook as one of the most Memorable Moments of our senior year.

  “I brought a joint,” I concur, spotting Mandy ogling me from the photo booth. She’s dressed in silver, a red heart pinned near her chest. She looks like a Marilyn Monroe pin-up with her short blonde hair curled above her shoulders. Except she isn’t humble, she’s too confident.

  Damn, she’s like the fucking female version of me. No wonder Sawyer despises me because I can’t stand the bitch.

  “Ten minutes and I think I’m going to need it,” Ben remarks, running his hands through his thick brown hair. “This was a bad, bad idea.”

  I continue to scan the room for my own horrific idea. “You wanted answers, so get them.”

  “What the hell am I going to say?”

  “How about who the hell did you fuck behind my back?”

  Ben scoffs. “Dude, c’mon, I’m not here to make a scene.” That’s where he and I seem to differ.

  I used to think that sometimes the best way to get results was to make a bang. But when the tables were turned and I’m the one looking like a fucking idiot, yeah, going out like one wasn’t what I wanted to become tonight.

  “Then make her come to you,” I offer.

  He peers over at me. “What? Use the ‘make her jealous’ routine?”

  I smirk and cross my arms along my chest. Sometimes, I swear he’s my damn twin.

  “The very one.”

  “I’m not you, man. I wasn’t born with asshole in my blood.”

  “I wasn’t either,” I counter. “My mom pumped me with the shit.”

  “Then pull your dad out of you or you’ll end up like her,” he implies.

  My head snaps to him. He gives me a solid look, silently telling me that he isn’t being a dick just doesn’t want me to be incapable of love. My mother didn’t love my father, just his passion for buying her things and what status she could gain. Which wasn’t much here, Freemont wasn’t Beverly Hills.

  “There she is,” Ben frets. “With fucking Tommy Valley.”

  “She wouldn’t fuck him,” I reply, studying the way her eyes look uninterested in whatever the hell Trevor is saying.

  “Why do you say that?”

  God, his anxiety is start
ing to rub off on me, and I’m not looking forward to approaching Sawyer now and asking her to dance with me. To see that I’m not always a complete dickhead and once, a long time ago, I was just a normal guy.

  “Word on the street is that he has a small dick,” I deadpan. It’s true, it was a thing for like a solid week in school.

  “I can’t stand you,” Ben stresses, rubbing his temple. “Unless you’ve seen it, you don’t know crap.”

  I put my hand on his back and give him a small shove. “Go talk to her.”

  “Let’s just go.” I roll my eyes just as “Hot in Herre” by Nelly begins to play. My ears are going to be bleeding by the time this dance is over.

  A flock of girls horde the middle of the gym floor, bringing in guys to spectate the show. We lose sight of Ben’s crush-girlfriend-whatever she is through the throng of teens.

  “Listen,” I recite, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It’s like baseball, you go big or go home. If you want answers, get your ass over there, talk it out or whatever, and let’s beat it.

  “Shit, Tiffany’s coming,” Ben falters quickly.

  Son of a—

  “Hey Colson,” she sing-songs behind me.

  I fix Ben with a severe look. “Run while you still can.” I turn around, watching her admiring me.

  In her heels, she’s about the same height as me, and I’m not short by any means.

  It does nothing for her. Her appeal is somber and unattractive, she couldn’t light a candle next to Sawyer for me, even though she’s tried.

  “How’s it going?” I say nonchalantly.

  “Better now that you’re here.” She smiles, twirling a piece of hair in between her fingers and snapping her gum in her mouth.

  “I won’t be here long,” I deadpan.

  She frowns. “You have to stay,” she whines. “You’re all dressed up and—did you come with someone?”

  I raise a brow. “And if I did?” She gapes at me, surprised by my bluntness, which is all I’ve ever given her.

  Over the course of the whole school year, I’ve only told her to fuck off half a million times when she approaches me with her little girlfriends. How I became her number one target to date, showing up in random places, arriving at my baseball games with posters, is still beyond me. I thought I ended that shit when I told her that if she showed up at another one of my games I was going to drag her name through the mud as the worst fuck of my life.

  Out of the corner of my eye, a yellow dress walks by, and I grab the poor girl’s arm, pulling her into my side. “There you are.”

  Blue eyes widen as I pull her into my ribcage so I can free myself of Tiffany and her little surprise visits. I pat my victim’s back to calm and keep her from having a heart attack. She’s a petite thing, her forehead comes to my shoulders, and thank God she isn’t hideous.

  Tiffany glares at her. “Is this your date?”

  I nod. “Yep, this is...Amy.”

  Her brows deepen. “That’s Wanda.”

  The fuck kind of name is Wanda?

  I force a smile. “She hates that name, don’t you, Amy?” I tug at the back of her dress to agree.

  She nods furiously. “Yes…I hate it.”

  Tiffany raises a brow. “Uh huh.”

  “You have a great night, Tiff,” I convey with a salute, guiding my fake date away.

  “Sure, you too.” Leading Wanda deeper into the gym, I hear her start to hyperventilate, so I turn her to face me by her shoulders.

  “Geezus, are you okay?”

  Her almond-shaped eyes broaden again. “You’re Colson Hayes.”

  “Uh...yeah.”

  “Oh my God,” she mutters, her face turning redder by the second. “You’re a senior.”

  I slowly nod. “Yep.”

  “My friends won’t believe this.”

  “Well, just send them over here and I’ll confirm the story,” I vouch, hoping she doesn’t. I mean, she saved my ass, so I guess I owe her, right?

  “Will you dance with me?” I open my mouth to say ‘no,’ but she does this weird jumping thing like her shoes are on fire.

  Freshman.

  “You’ll make this the most memorable moment of my life,” she beams, clasping her hands together. I look heavenward.

  To be or not be an asshole, that is the question.

  “Well,” I put forth with a half shrug. “You saved my ass, so—” I don’t get to finish my sentence because she is already dragging me by the wrist to the crowded dance floor.

  For a small thing, she’s strong as fuck. And if I couldn’t pick more of a worse moment to pull this shit, “A Moment Like This” by Kelly Clarkson plays on cue.

  Wanda’s short arms wrap around my neck, standing on her tiptoes to fully engulf me to her small frame. I groan inwardly, hesitating to put my hands on her slim hips, but I’ll embarrass her, and we’ll look like a bunch of idiots swaying side to side on the dance floor without me holding her in return.

  So, gently, I grasp her hips and follow her lead.

  “I never thought this would happen,” she caws, a giant smile plastered to her oval face. “I mean...you’re Colson Hayes.”

  Don’t roll your eyes.

  “Yep, the name’s been the same for eighteen years,” I remark. She tugs my neck closer to her five foot, one inch height.

  “You have the prettiest eyes.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And I love your hair.” She begins to lace one of her hands through my strands, but I clasp her wrist.

  “Let’s be a little more hands off, okay?”

  She nods profusely again. “Sure, sure. I’m nervous, I mean, I’ve had boyfriends. Three, actually. They were all super nice but, like, too nice. Girls like danger, ya know?”

  I avert my attention from her, saving her a smart ass remark, and scan the room, which doesn’t deter her from continuing to talk.

  Brunettes.

  Blondes.

  Too tall.

  Too short.

  Too skinny.

  Lasting another two minutes and thirteen seconds with Wanda, I politely thank her for the dance and hurry away; we’re even now. And only seconds after I step off the dance floor do I see her.

  Appareled in a cream dress with white lace at the bottom, Sawyer stands along with another group of girls, sipping on punch.

  My eyes drink her in, her hair is curled, cascading down her bare shoulders and the V-neck of her fuck-me dress. It's not too deep, but it's enough for me to stare at her tits for a good ten seconds. The cream-colored fabric rides up to above her knees, displaying her tan legs and the bruise that she got Tuesday from sliding into third base at practice.

  Her eyes meet mine as though she senses me like I always do her, like a blast of light to your face, blinding, warm, and addicting.

  She stiffens, which doesn’t get her the normal smirk that normally graces my face. Her fingers grip the plastic cup in her hand tighter, shifting her weight to my slow strides toward her. I didn’t come this far, to a dance I didn’t want to come to, and not talk to her. I’m also tired of being shunned.

  She watches every step I take, heading straight toward her. For as much as I can read her, I still can’t pass the test of what she thinks of me. How I’m Colson Hayes, the asshole, the all-star baseball player, the guy who has made it publicly known that I’m not going to be bringing a girl with me outside this town.

  “Enjoying the dance, Bases?” I ask, keeping a safe distance.

  She gives me a once-over, slowly taking me in and commiting me to memory. And, fuck me, if my cock doesn’t stir with her sight drinking me in.

  I want her eyes on me all the time. I crave for her fingers to be laced in my hair, her moans brushing off my skin as I—

  “I was,” she rebutes. “Until just now.”

  I give her a smug look, ignoring her friends gawking at me. “You’re supposed to be polite at these social gatherings.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I haven’t smacked you yet, Hayes
, but play your cards right though and I just might.”

  “Then asking you to dance is out of the question?”

  Her eyes go wide then narrow, clenching her plastic cup again. “Yes.”

  “Remember politeness.”

  She adjusts her weight on her feet and looks up at the ceiling. “Leave me alone, Hayes.”

  “I will,” I return. “After my dance.” She takes a looming step toward me, still not comprehending how hot she is when she starts to get angry.

  When I piss her off.

  “Do you need a translator?”

  And why have I heard that fucking line before?

  I chuckle, peering down at her.

  Geezus, she is so fucking adorable.

  “I want to dance with you,” I mutter so that only she can hear me. “So do me the honors and let me.”

  “I don’t want to dance.”

  I shamelessly soak her in. “Damn, Bases, you wore one hell of a dress not to.”

  Her cheeks brighten, and she looks away from me. “I’m not looking to start anything.”

  “Anything as in?”

  “He’s here.”

  My brows furrow. “Gavin?” She nods, biting her lower lip and bowing her head into her chest.

  Oh hell no.

  She’s too good for him to be hiding away in the shadows because she’s scared to run into her ex.

  “I’ll protect you.” I expect her to scoff, roll her eyes, possibly tell me to fuck off, even though I know she won’t. Instead, she meets my gaze, checking for answers or lies.

  “I’m not...I’m not sleeping with you.”

  I scowl at her. “Are you fucking serious? I asked you to dance, not bend over.” She clenches her eyes closed, her face looking pained, and I instinctively touch her forearm. “Bases.”

  “Please,” she utters through closed lids. “I don’t want people to gossip anymore about me.”

  I hate that she lives like this. She wouldn't have been a spectacle if it wasn’t for Gavin and I. That we’ve publicly fought over her, exchanged words and glares at each other everywhere. We’ve openly made it known that Sawyer is the cause of our fights and words. That him and I are on the outs, and we’re more than likely not going to make up before the school year is up.