The Strike Out

by Quinn, Meghan

  “I’ll buy you lunch tomorrow.”

  Jason gives it some thought. “Does that include a cookie?”

  I roll my eyes. “Of course.”

  “Deal.” Still clutching his ass, he hobbles toward the locker room with the rest of the team, leaving me with Knox and Carson.

  “Want to talk about it?” Carson asks.

  I shake my head and take a seat on the turf, letting my hands prop me up from behind. “Nah, I’m good.”

  “Are you? Because you almost ran us into the ground and you’ve been pretty quiet the last few days.” Carson is right, but I’m not ready to get into it.

  “I’m good. Just working through some things.” I nod toward the locker room. “Go on. I’ll meet you in there.”

  “Are you sure?” Knox asks.

  “Yeah. Positive.”

  Wearily, they both stand and exchange a look before heading off toward the locker room, leaving me with my thoughts and the outfield, my second home. I lie all the way down on the turf, letting the prickly surface dig into my skin while I stare at the domed ceiling of our baseball field. Brentwood is blessed with major donors, and because our program is so successful, we bring a lot of fans to the stands, increasing the revenue to our program. We’re lucky, I get that, something I’ll never take for granted.

  “What the hell am I going to do?” I mutter.

  I can’t stop thinking about her. That’s obvious from the shit practice I had, and I can’t keep having bad practices, because not only will my teammates be punished for it, but Disik will bench me. He’s done it before, and I wouldn’t put it past him to do it again.

  But I don’t know how to get her out of my head. Probably because I feel guilty. I feel as if I unintentionally insulted her, and I was already on thin ice.

  Skittish, stubborn, beautifully self-sufficient.

  I’m not sure she’s going to give me another chance, and that’s something I’m going to have to come to terms with.

  With a deep breath, I stand from the outfield and head toward the locker room. Since we have equipment managers, I don’t bother grabbing my gloves, but head straight to the showers, where I find a stall in the far back corner. I’m the last one to leave the showers, and after drying off and getting dressed, I’m left with an empty locker room to myself before I take off.

  I flip the hood to my sweatshirt over my head, throw my backpack over my shoulders, grab my keys, and make my way toward the parking lot. Out of pure desperation, I look at my phone, hoping for a glimpse of communication, but as I push through the doors leading outside, I’m once again disappointed. Nothing from Harmony. Just a text from my mom saying she sent some bagels from my favorite bagel place to the loft.

  At least I have that to look forward to.

  I pocket my phone and look up toward my car. I stop immediately.

  Blinking a few times, I swear my eyes are deceiving me, but when the figure in front of my car stands, I know I’m not dreaming.

  “Harmony, how long have you been out here?”

  “An hour,” she says, quietly.

  “An hour? Are you cold?”

  Her teeth chatter. “A little.”

  She’s wearing a pair of leggings and a T-shirt, so I quickly take off my backpack, followed by my hoodie, which I hand to her.

  “Put this on.”

  I unlock my car, help her into the passenger seat, and then jog to the driver’s side. I put my backpack in the back seat and then I turn on the car, blasting the heat.

  “What are you doing out here?”

  “I wanted to talk to you,” she says, her teeth still chattering. “I wasn’t sure, after how we left things, if you’d answer my call or texts.”

  Little does she know I’ve been desperate for them. But I doubt she’d appreciate it if I say that to her.

  “Can we go somewhere and talk?” she asks.

  “Where do you want to go?”

  “Would you mind driving me back to my place?”

  “Not at all. Can we stop somewhere so I can pick something up to eat? I’m starving.”

  She nods while keeping her hands stuffed in the pocket of my hoodie. “I’m hungry too.”

  “Burgers and fries?”

  “Perfect.” She smiles, but it’s shaky. Unsure what this conversation will hold, I carefully reach over to her seatbelt and buckle her in so she doesn’t have to move her warming hands.

  “Safety first, babe,” I say, wincing at the nickname. I try to gauge her reaction but she doesn’t seem to have one, so I let out a pent-up breath and put the car in drive.

  I don’t know what she wants to talk about, but I’m hoping it’s good news.

  * * *

  “Is Priya home?” I ask as we walk into her townhome.

  Harmony flips on the light and says, “No, she took my shift tonight. She bought some shoes and needs to pay them off, and I wanted to talk to you, so it worked out.”

  I follow her to the small, two-person dining table and we both take a seat as I set the bag of food between us. We both got burgers and decided to share fries. I shouldn’t be eating this shit, but then again, I’ve been eating my feelings lately and if she tells me bad news, at least I know I’ll be leaving her with a belly full of burger and fries.

  Harmony divvies out the food, and then, in silence, we unwrap our meals and both take bites. The atmosphere feels melancholy, almost as if we’re sharing a meal before a funeral.

  “These fries are good,” Harmony says, popping a few more in her mouth.

  “Yeah, Frangos is a hole in the wall, but the boys and I love going there. Great burgers, close to campus, and amazing fries.” I pick up a few and bite down.

  “Yeah, this burger is good too.” She takes another bite.

  Fuck, it’s awkward.

  I almost wish I hadn’t said anything about eating because, clearly, we’re not going to talk about anything substantial until the meal is over. With that now in my mind, I buckle down and focus on eating. Luckily, we both ordered small burgers, so we eat pretty quickly, especially since we’re silent, and when I finish, I lean back in my chair and take a sip of the sports drink I ordered.

  Harmony wipes her mouth and sips on her Diet Coke, avoiding eye contact with me.

  I’m a chatty guy, the one who doesn’t let silence fall in a group. I have a lineup of questions always geared up, ready to be asked, so nobody has to experience an awkward silence, but not this time. I don’t want to be the one who talks. I don’t want to be the one who fucks this up even more.

  I want to listen.

  I want to find out why I’m here, not dig myself a deeper grave.

  So, I stay silent even though it’s challenging and painful.

  After what feels like half an hour, she looks up at me and says, “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry for what?” I ask, confused.

  “Can we maybe have this conversation somewhere more comfortable?” she asks.

  “Of course. You lead the way.”

  Together we dispose of our trash, and then we walk over to the couch, where we both take a seat. I drape one arm over the back and face her, trying to act as casual as possible, even when it feels as if she’s twisting and turning my nerves with a rusty pitchfork.

  Scooting closer to me, she looks me in the eyes and says, “I’m sorry for the way I’ve been treating you. You’ve been nothing but sweet and caring, and I’ve tried to brush you off every chance I get.”

  “You don’t need to apologize—”

  “I do. You didn’t deserve that kind of behavior.”

  “Not that you need to apologize, but thanks, I guess.”

  She twists her hands together as she says, “I . . . uh . . . I called Fifer.”

  My brow creases in shock. “You did?”

  I was not expecting her to say that. Hell, I didn’t know what I expected in coming to her place tonight. An apology and hearing about a call to Fifer wasn’t on the top of my list of possibilities.

  �
�I did. I spoke with my mom and she told me I was being a stubborn idiot.”

  “She said that?” I laugh.

  “Well, she alluded to it without using those words.” She glances up at me. “I’m so used to making things happen for my future by myself. Yes, my parents have always been by my side supporting me, but I made the right steps to get where I am right now. I’m not used to help, so if I sounded ungrateful, it’s because I was angry at myself for having to lean on someone else for help.”

  “You don’t have to do everything on your own,” I say. “It’s okay to ask for help, Harmony.”

  “I’m starting to figure that out.” She takes a deep breath. “Anyway, I spoke with Fifer for over two hours. She thought I would be a great fit for the paid internship program. I start next week. They’re going to train me online, and I’m going to work closely with the head editor. It’s going to be great experience. I spoke with the diner and cut down my hours drastically so I can focus on this internship. I’ll be able to pick up shifts here and there, but I can rely on the internship to help pay the bills while I focus on my education.”

  “That’s great,” I say, feeling excited for her. “I’m happy for you, Harmony.”

  “You didn’t have to connect me with Fifer, you know. That was really above and beyond, Holt.”

  I shrug. “I just got you the contact. You sold yourself.”

  “I’m sure you had more of an impact than that. Either way, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” I answer, wondering if this conversation is going anywhere else.

  The vulnerability shining in her eyes does nothing to push me away. Instead, it intrigues me. I want to know what else makes her vulnerable, what makes her worry her lip, what creates the concerned pinch between her eyes, and then I want to help her fix it. The draw I have to this girl is strong. It’s potent. It’s not something I want to let go of.

  I just hope I’m here because she wants to try again.

  To my surprise, she reaches out and takes my hand in hers. My heart is immediately put at ease—that is, until she says, “I’m not ready for a relationship, Holt.”

  Fuck.

  “Okay,” I say softly, my eyes falling to our connected hands. Talk about taking all the wind out of my sails.

  Her fingers reach up and lift my chin so my eyes are locked on hers. “But I can’t stop thinking about you.”

  Thump.

  My heart sputters in my chest, hope blooms, and I find it increasingly hard to breathe as I recount what she said.

  “I wasn’t looking for anything other than ways to propel my future forward, and then you came along and shifted everything.”

  “If it helps, I wasn’t looking for anything either, but here I am, hoping you give me a chance,” I say, hoping I don’t sound like a desperate asshole.

  She scoots a little closer and entwines our fingers together. “I think it would be more distracting on my end to try to ignore the pull I have toward you.” Her eyes meet mine. They register as scared, hesitant, but also hopeful. She takes a deep breath and then asks, “Holt, will you go out with me?”

  Fuck, I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face.

  It’s an easy answer for me. “Hell, yeah, baby.”

  I pull her onto my lap so she’s straddling me, and I grip her waist, holding her in place.

  She chuckles and places her hands on my shoulders. “Jumping right into it, I see.”

  “We have to make up for lost time.”

  “You act as if it’s been months.”

  “Felt like it,” I answer while sliding my thumbs over her hips. “You really want to go out with me?”

  “Unfortunately,” she answers with a smile. “Don’t make me regret it.”

  “Nah, once you’ve been in these arms, there’s no way you’ll regret it.”

  “You seem awfully sure of that.” Her hands slide up my neck to my cheeks and she lowers her head.

  “I’ve been able to keep you around for this long, just wait. Now that you’ve given in, you’re done for.”

  She chuckles and shifts her hips on my lap before connecting her forehead with mine. “I’m sorry for being awful earlier.”

  Feeling the shift in conversation, I carefully bring my hands to her sides, a more intimate hold. I want her to know it’s okay to be honest with me, that she can trust me, that I’m here for all the right reasons and have no intentions of hurting her. “I’m sorry if I insulted you in any way. That wasn’t my intention. I should have asked you if you needed help, instead of assuming.”

  She lightly shakes her head against mine. “Don’t apologize, Holt. You were being thoughtful.”

  “How about we both accept that we’re sorry and move on? No use running around in circles about it.”

  “I know. I just—I don’t want you to think I’m a ratchet bitch.”

  My head falls back as a hearty laugh rumbles out of me. “Babe, if I thought that, I would not be here right now,” I say when my laughter dies down. I give her a little shake. “All is forgiven.”

  “Okay.” She nibbles on her bottom lip. “I still feel bad.”

  “Well, there is a way you can make it up to me.” I wiggle my brows, and she chuckles. She relaxes against me, covering my body with hers, and rests her head on my shoulder. Her arms snake around my body. I loop my arms around her and hold her close. She fits perfectly.

  “I feel awkward,” she admits.

  “Why?” I rub my hand up and down her back.

  “I just do. I still feel as though there’s an elephant in the room.”

  “No elephant, babe,” I say, kissing the top of her head. “How about this? Tell me about your day.”

  “It was full of anxiety, waiting to talk to you.”

  “I can imagine. I liked the surprise of seeing you at my car, though. I had a shit practice and seeing you waiting for me turned around my day.”

  She nuzzles her cheek against my shoulder. “Did you have to run foul poles?”

  “Yup. Fifteen minutes of foul poles. My head wasn’t in practice today.”

  “Was it because of me?”

  “Maybe. But don’t feel bad about it because I know better than to let outside factors affect my mental game. I wasn’t focused, and we ran because of it. All my fault.”

  “Was this supposed to make me feel better?”

  I chuckle. “For a second, I thought it would. Looking back now, probably not a smart topic.” Luckily, she laughs into my shoulder. I continue to stroke her back. “Maybe we start over tomorrow and spend the rest of the night just like this?”

  “A subdued Holt Green? I didn’t know such a thing existed.”

  I give her a squeeze. I act like a loon a lot of the time, but there are times I’m subdued. Like when the girl I want to date gives me the cold shoulder and rejects my good intentions. But we’re here now. She’s worth me putting on a brave face so I can convince her that we can juggle this. Us. “I got all I need right here. I’m content.”

  “You’re too good for me.”

  “Nah, babe. I’m perfect for you.”

  * * *

  Holt: Good morning, baby. How did you sleep?

  Harmony: Horny.

  Holt: LOL! You know I have ways of fixing that, right?

  Harmony: Yeah, and that kiss you left me with did nothing but heighten the issue.

  Holt: Why didn’t you say anything?

  Harmony: Because I didn’t want you to think I asked you out because of the physical.

  Holt: As if that’s a bad thing . . .

  Harmony: Your body is hot, but your brain is what hooked me.

  Holt: Is this what flirting is like with you? I think I could get used this this. *leans back and places hand behind head*

  Harmony: You’re even obnoxious in text messages.

  Holt: There’s no avoiding it.

  Harmony: Clearly.

  Holt: What are you up to today? Any chance I get to see your beautiful face?

&nb
sp; Harmony: Booked solid with classes, studying, Zoom training with Fifer, and then a shift at the diner. It’s like that for the next few days.

  Holt: Well, damn. And here I thought I was the one with the busy schedule. So, when do I get to see you next?

  Harmony: Sunday?

  Holt: Sunday? Are you out of your damn mind? That’s five days away.

  Harmony: I’m aware.

  Holt: Are you aware that you asked me out? And that I’m expecting you to wine and dine me? Five days of not seeing you isn’t boding well for you.

  Harmony: Sorry, sugar plum.

  Holt: Not sure on the nickname. Let me mull that over. I prefer something more masculine, like metal balls, but we can work on it. I’m more concerned about seeing you.

  Harmony: I’m not calling you metal balls.

  Holt: I said we can work on it.

  Harmony: Well, metal balls isn’t a good starting point.

  Holt: As if sugar plum is?

  Harmony: Could be worse. I could call you Harry Dingleberry.

  Holt: What? Are you . . . drunk?

  Harmony: It would make these conversations easier if I were.

  Holt: Oof, you’re spicy this morning. If only I were there to lick that spice right off you.

  Harmony: Why would you say that when you know I’m horny?

  Holt: Bringing it full circle, babe.

  Harmony: I have to get to class. I’ll text you later, okay?

  Holt: Fine. Send me a picture of you to at least hold me over.

  Harmony: Maybe I will.

  * * *

  “Hell,” I mutter, staring down at the picture of Harmony on my phone. It’s a mirror selfie. She’s wearing some kind of sinful red dress that falls just below her ass and shows off her killer rack. Her hair is spiraled in curls, and she’s wearing what looks like four-inch red heels and fire-engine-red lipstick. It’s a tempting picture and it reminds me just how much I want to see her.

  The last two days she’s sent me a picture of her to “hold me over” but they’ve done nothing but intensify my need to be around her.