The Strike Out

by Quinn, Meghan

  Priya’s brother works for the FBI, and that’s as much as I know. She can’t talk about his job much, but he’s very protective and always runs background checks on the guys she takes home or goes home with. From what I’ve seen, it’s been quite a few background checks. Her poor brother.

  “Well, then, have fun with Harry.”

  “Thanks. What are you and Holt up to tonight?”

  “He has study hall with the boys. I don’t think I’ll see him.”

  She glances over at her tables to make sure they’re doing fine, and then she asks, “Not to make things weird, but do you think it’s odd that Holt is always over at our place? Like, how come you haven’t met his friends yet?”

  “I mean . . . I don’t care. I like how things are.”

  “Yeah, but don’t you think he should want his friends to meet you and vice versa?”

  “Maybe.” I grab a few glasses and fill them with water. I picked up an extra shift today knowing Holt would be in study hall and that Priya was working. “It’s not like we’re hiding it. He’s openly affectionate in public.”

  “Okay. Just seems weird is all. Like he’s hiding something.”

  I put the filled glasses on a tray and turn toward her. “I thought you were Team Holt.”

  “I am,” she says quickly. “I think he’s amazing. Just think it’s kind of weird that you haven’t met the guys yet.”

  “I didn’t think much of it, honestly.”

  “Well, as long as you’re cool with it.” She glances over at Harry’s table. “I’m going to see if he needs anything.”

  “Okay.”

  She takes off, and I lift the tray to my shoulder and head out to the booth of soccer players who came in after a long practice. Thankfully they took showers before they came in. There have been some athletes who haven’t bothered to shower and, God, it’s like sticking your head in their jockstrap when you’re serving them. “Your food should be out shortly,” I say. “Do you need anything until then?”

  “Your number,” one of the guys says.

  “Dude.” The guy next to him slaps him on the chest. “That’s Green’s girl.”

  “Oh shit, really?” The douche holds up his hands. “Sorry. Didn’t mean anything by it.”

  Confused, I say, “It’s not a problem.” And because I’m curious, I ask, “How do you know that?”

  The one who called me Green’s girl says, “I have an engineering class with Holt. He talks about you nonstop. He showed me a picture of you the other day.”

  God, the smile that crosses my face. “Oh.” I don’t know how to respond to that, so I grip the tray to my side. “Well, let me know if you need anything.”

  I head back to the waitress stand, and the small sliver of doubt that crept into my head from Priya’s question is tamped down. The anxiety about my relationship with Holt isn’t there. Now I’m just curious.

  * * *

  Harmony: Done with study hall?

  Holt: Nah. Coach has us staying longer because one of the freshmen has shit grades.

  Harmony: That sucks. You can’t leave even if you have good grades?

  Holt: Coach is all about team unity. Knox is actually working with the freshman right now while I hide behind my backpack and text you. Done with your shift?

  Harmony: Yeah. Just laying in bed now. Wishing you were here.

  Holt: Ugh. Send me a pic.

  Smiling, I turn the camera toward me and make a kissy face. I’m naked in bed and make sure to angle the phone so he can tell but without showing anything. I press send and wait.

  Holt: Baby.

  Holt: Are you naked?

  Harmony: Yeah. I was hoping you could come over. I heard something nice about you today and wanted to reward you for being an amazing boyfriend.

  Holt: I know I’m pretty damn amazing, but tell me what I did anyway.

  Harmony: Some players from the soccer team were at the diner today. One of the guys hit on me and the other one stopped him and told him I was Green’s girl.

  Holt: Who the fuck hit on you?

  Harmony: Doesn’t matter. He was set straight. But the guy said you talk about me all the time in your engineering class.

  Holt: Who was it? Who hit on you?

  Harmony: Oh my God. Holt, it doesn’t matter.

  Holt: Matters to me.

  Harmony: Are you really doing this right now?

  Holt: I have the right to know.

  Harmony: Are you hearing yourself? I’m trying to tell you how amazing you are, but I’m about to take that back. And honestly, how was the guy supposed to know? It’s not as if you flaunt me around.

  I press send out of anger, knowing it’s not the right thing to say, but is he really getting mad about this? How ridiculous.

  Holt: What’s that supposed to mean? I thought you were fine with how things are.

  Harmony: I am. But you can’t be a dick about a guy asking for my number when we haven’t made anything publicly official.

  Holt: Is that what you want? A public service announcement?

  Harmony: Why are you being an ass?

  Holt: I’m not. I’m just frustrated. Why won’t you tell me who it is?

  Harmony: What does it matter?

  Holt: You’re my girl. That’s what matters.

  Harmony: I understand that, but I’m telling you it was no big deal. The guy apologized. What good will it do if I tell you who it was? Are you going to go beat him up because he spoke to me?

  Holt: Just a man-to-man chat.

  Harmony: You know, there are a lot of good qualities about you, Holt, so it’s surprising that you’re acting like an ignorant caveman.

  Holt: I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.

  Harmony: How about we pretend this conversation never happened?

  I toss my phone to the side and grunt in frustration.

  Well, that wasn’t what I was expecting when I sent him a text.

  Asshole.

  * * *

  “You owe me,” I hear Priya say sleepily before her bedroom door shuts and mine creaks open.

  I should have known.

  I don’t even bother to turn in bed to see him walk in. Instead, I listen as he takes off his shoes, followed by what I’m assuming are his pants and shirt. He sets his phone on my nightstand like he always does, and then he lifts the covers to my bed and slips in.

  The first thing he does is press a kiss to my bare shoulder. When I don’t respond, he slips his hand over my stomach. Still naked, I lie there, unmoving.

  “Harmony,” he whispers, “I know you’re awake.”

  “What do you want?” I ask, still facing away.

  “I want to talk to you.”

  “Oh, are you being rational now?”

  He sighs heavily and pulls on me so I roll to my back and am forced to look at his stupid, handsome face. His hair isn’t styled, probably didn’t bother with it after his shower, and his face has extra scruff on it, my undoing—normally. Right now, I’m holding strong, even though normally I wouldn’t. I never hold back with Holt.

  And yet, I don’t know his friends. I shouldn’t be bothered by this, but Priya’s words have snuck under my defenses. When I first met Holt and his boys, I was terribly rude to them. I wasn’t exactly shy when I told them how incensed it made me that so much money was thrown at the baseball team. It’s why I pushed Holt away for so long. And Priya was right—he is often here. Are they angry with me? Do they not like me because of how things began? Is Holt embarrassed by me? Not to mention where I’m from. Is that what this is?

  “I’m sorry,” he says. He drags his hand over his face. “I don’t know what my deal is. I’m not that guy. I’ve never been that guy. But, fuck, babe, I’m so goddamn territorial when it comes to you, I just . . . black out, don’t think, and end up acting like an ass.”

  His finger lazily draws up my stomach and between my cleavage, sending a wave of chills down my arm.

  Trying not to be affected by his touch, I sa
y, “It wasn’t a big deal, Holt.”

  “It was to me,” he says softly, his finger inching closer to my breast, only to circle my nipple. In seconds, my nipple is hard, and I feel my body’s arousal.

  And even though I want him, this is not how we have a conversation.

  I stop his hand, and then I wiggle out from under him, go to my dresser, where I find one of his old shirts, and I throw it over my head.

  “What are you doing?” he asks.

  “Covering up. I’m not about to have a serious conversation with you while you try to turn me on.”

  “I was just feeling you. Trying to stay connected. Do you know how fucking frustrating it was, texting you and not getting a response back? I was itching to leave study hall so I could come here.”

  “And what? Trick me by having sex with me?”

  “What?” he asks, his brows drawn together. “When have I ever tricked you into having sex with me?”

  I push my hand to my forehead. “That’s not what I’m saying.” Taking a deep breath, I say, “You can’t control every interaction I have with the opposite sex. It’s not going to bode well for you if you try to.”

  “So, because I care about my girl, you’re going to break up with me?”

  “Oh my God, Holt. Are you hearing yourself? Is this why I haven’t met any of your friends? Because you’re afraid they might talk to me?”

  “No. You said you were good with not meeting them.”

  “Well, maybe I’m not.” I fold my arms over my chest.

  “Where’s this all coming from?” He stands and, in the moonlight, I can see the anger vibrating off him, the tension in his shoulders, the flex in his chest. “I thought we were good.”

  “So did I. But apparently we live in the seventeen hundreds and I’m not allowed to talk to other guys.”

  “Do you want to talk to other guys?” he asks, his voice growing louder. Pretty sure Priya is regretting letting him in now.

  Feeling as if we’re going in circles, I say, “Maybe you should leave. We clearly aren’t in a position to have an adult conversation about this.”

  As he stares me down, I see his jaw work to the side, and then without a word, he moves past me and starts putting on his clothes, followed by his shoes. My stomach plummets as he walks toward the door and throws it open.

  I know I told him to leave, but I didn’t actually think he would. I thought there’d be more fight in him.

  He crosses the threshold of my room and then stops, his hand reaching up to the doorjamb. With his back to me, he says, “I love you.” And then he takes off down the stairs and out our front door.

  Stunned, I walk over to my bed and sit down.

  I blink back a few tears and then reach for my phone. That’s when I notice he left his. I pick it up, and the screen lights up with a picture of me. I’m smiling at the camera, and in text, “my baby” is written on the picture.

  I nibble on my bottom lip and then reach for my phone to open up his texts that went unanswered.

  Holt: We need to have this conversation.

  Holt: Harmony.

  Holt: Don’t fucking go silent on me. We need to talk about this.

  Holt: I know I’m a possessive asshole. I get it. But I’m not going to apologize for loving you.

  Holt: I can see you’re not going to respond. I’m in my car, headed to your place right now to talk this out.

  Sighing, I set my phone down just as the door opens, scaring me. Holt stands in the doorway, hands in his pockets, a remorseful look on his face. He sticks his hand in his hair and pulls on the strands.

  “I’m sorry.”

  I stand from the bed and walk over to him. I gently place my hand on his chest, and he exhales, as if a weight was just lifted off him.

  “I’m sorry for asking you to leave. I shouldn’t have done that.”

  His hands fall to my hips and he grips me tightly. “This is consuming. You and me. I’m not sure how to navigate these feelings.” His eyes meet with mine. “I can’t have you leave me.”

  “I’m not leaving you, Holt. It would take a lot more to get rid of me.”

  He shuts the door behind him and kicks off his shoes before pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it on the ground. He moves me back to my bed, where he lays me down. He climbs on top of me and lies down on his side to not squash me with his weight. One of his hands starts stroking my hair as he says, “Not getting rid of you.” His eyes search mine. “I’m going to try to rein in the alpha-like behavior.”

  I smooth my hand over his shoulder. “Save it for the bedroom. But outside of the bedroom, know nothing is going to take me away from you.”

  “Not even some punk at a diner?”

  I chuckle. “No, not some punk at the diner.”

  He sighs and then says, “I was telling Carson about you tonight.”

  “Really?” I ask, surprised.

  He nods. “Yeah. He was asking why I was being such a bastard, and I told him. He asked why I haven’t said much about you.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I’m superstitious. Afraid if I talk about it, something shitty would happen.”

  Confused, I say, “But you told that soccer guy in your class.”

  “That’s different.” He sighs heavily.

  “How is it different?”

  “How do I explain this without sounding crazy?” He drags his hand down his face. “Hell, either way, I’m going to sound crazy.”

  I chuckle. “Then just tell me.”

  He looks off to the side and shakes his head in humor. “Jesus. Don’t judge me. But a few weeks ago, I accidentally let our relationship slip after practice, while we were getting changed. Knox was talking about Emory, and I sort of said you were locker-room material.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Have you ever heard of the baseball locker room rumors?”

  “Uh . . . not really. Remember, I steered clear of all athletes and sports on campus before you came along.”

  “True.” He twirls a piece of my hair in his finger and says, “Rumor on campus has been if a guy on the baseball team invites a girl to the locker room to get it on, they’re going to be together forever.”

  I stare at him for a few seconds and then I bust out in laughter. “You have got to be kidding.”

  He doesn’t smirk. Instead, he’s incredibly serious when he answers, “I’m not kidding. Every guy who has taken a girl to the locker room has wound up marrying her.”

  “Every guy?”

  “Every. Guy.”

  I swallow, realization hitting me harder than expected. “Wait, and you said I’m locker-room material?”

  He nods. “Yeah, babe. You are.”

  “Oh.”

  Oh!

  “Soo . . . what you’re trying to say is that you think you jinxed us, and now you’re trying not to talk about us in case you jinx us some more?”

  “Precisely.”

  I stare up at him and after a few heartbeats, I say jokingly, “What a load of crap.”

  He laughs and tickles my side, making me squirm beneath him. “It’s not a load of crap. You’re messing with fate, and that’s not something I take lightly.”

  “You’re telling me there isn’t something else that’s been holding you back?” I ask, seeing a flash of vulnerability behind his eyes. “There is, isn’t there?”

  He glances to the side and exhales. “I’m not that guy who lets the past dictate my future.”

  “But you are, aren’t you?”

  “It was after I was mugged,” he says softly. “There was a girl I was crushing on hard. My buddies knew it and I was planning on asking her out that weekend, but when I was laid up in the hospital, one of the guys moved in on her.”

  Oh God.

  “That’s really shitty, Holt. I’m sorry that happened to you.”

  He shrugs. “Yeah, so it’s made me protective, which then makes me act like a complete asshole, apparently. And like I said,
I don’t like it when the past comes back to impact choices for your future. I guess I let it slip in before I could stop it.” He rubs my side. “I promise to be better.”

  “Thank you.” I lift up and press a kiss to his lips. “So, what did Carson say when you told him all of this?”

  “He called me crazy.”

  I chuckle. “Sounds like Carson and I would be good friends.”

  “You would.” He smooths his hand up my shirt to just below my breast. “Want to meet him?”

  “Really?” I ask.

  He nods. “Yeah. He’s one of my best friends. I think I could spare one guy and not jinx us.”

  “You realize how ridiculous that sounds, right?”

  “Not ridiculous at all, because it’s true.” His thumb rubs the underside of my breast.

  “I would love to meet him. In a controlled environment, where we don’t run into any black cats or walk under any ladders—”

  “Real fucking funny,” he says, moving my shirt up my body until he’s pulling it over my head.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Make-up sex,” he answers, taking off his pants and boxers, revealing his already hard erection. When did that happen? Maybe I’m not the only one who’s turned on easily. “We fought, and now we make up. Simple.”

  I press my hand to his chest.

  “But are we really okay?”

  “We’re good, babe.”

  “And your whole-alpha-macho-man-don’t-look-at-my-girlfriend attitude? Where do we stand on that?”

  His lips find my neck. “I’m going to get it together.”

  “And your jealousy?” I ask as I part my legs for him.

  “Tamped down.” He grips his cock and rubs it along my clit.

  “No more freaking out on me if I say a guy looked at me.”

  “He hit on you.” He presses his cock to my entrance and I thrust my hips toward him, ensuring he enters with ease. He grunts something under his breath and then says, “Big difference between looking at you and hitting on you.”

  “Either way.” I force him to look me in the eyes as he pushes deep inside me. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  He smirks. “Damn right, you’re not. You love my cock too much.”