He had Simone’s dark hair and eyes, but that was where the similarities ended. Where she was all introverted and walked the halls like she was trying to hide, her father took up all the space around him, talking loudly and familiarly as he led me down the narrow hall to a small living area with a beaten up couch and more DVDs than I’ve ever seen in my life.
“You know, Sims didn’t think you were really coming,” he said.
I just barely registered what he’d said because my brain had latched onto that nickname and wouldn’t let go. Sims. It was cute. Not super girlie and totally unique.
Kind of like Simone.
I stopped short just as he turned to face me. “She didn’t think I’d show?”
That didn’t sit right, but her father didn’t seem to notice. “She wanted to give me fair warning that a boy might be coming over so I didn’t burst into her room with a shotgun—kidding, kidding.” He flashed me a wicked little grin and I saw the similarity between him and Simone again. “But she added about eighty times that you probably wouldn’t show so she wasn’t sure why she even bothered to tell me.”
I had no idea what I was supposed to say to that so I called upon the good manners my mom had instilled in us all with a vengeance when we were little. “Thank you for having me in your home, sir.”
“Sir,” he repeated with a laugh and a shake of his head. “Jax said you were a gentleman, but I thought he just meant I could trust you to keep your hands to yourself.”
“Jax…” I repeated stupidly. I felt about ten steps behind in this conversation and her father was already walking away so I started to follow.
“Oh sure, as soon as Simone mentioned your name I did my due diligence.” He flashed me a smile before he stopped before a closed door at the end of the hallway. “Jax is as good as family and would lay down his life for my girl. If he says you’re a good egg, I believe him.”
I nodded, oddly touched and completely unable to explain why. Maybe that her father was so protective of her, or that he trusted Jax, or that Jax had given his approval… Whatever it was, my voice was weirdly solemn as I met her father’s searching stare head on. “I respect your daughter, sir. That’s why I’d like to be her friend.”
He continued to stare for another long moment before giving me a short nod. Then he gave a few sharp knocks on the closed door and shouted out, “Sims, your boyfriend is here!”
My insides did a sharp nosedive as her father turned to me with a wink. “She’s gonna kill me for that one.” He was still laughing as he walked away and Simone threw the door open with an irritated groan.
“Dad—” she said in the sort of world weary tone reserved for put-upon teen daughters the world over. She stopped short in the doorway at the sight of me.
I grinned.
She blinked.
She had glasses on and blinking just exaggerated how big her eyes were behind the wire-rimmed lenses. “You’re here,” she said, shoving the glasses up her nose as she shifted from one foot to the other. “I didn’t think you were really coming,” she mumbled as she looked down.
I looked down too and knew I failed to smother my smile. I couldn’t help it. She looked so stinkin’ cute in those flannel pajama pants and oversized hoodie.
“May I?” I asked, nodding toward her room which was currently guarding with crossed arms.
“Oh, uh…” She glanced back. “Sure.”
I followed her and took it in. My smile grew at the utter Simone-ness of this room. The movie posters up everywhere—everything from eighties rom coms to Golden Age classics to last year’s blockbuster action movie. Interspersed between all the posters and memorabilia was original artwork. I stopped in front of a sketch that was an interesting mix of skeletons and flowers. “You did this?”
She stopped beside me and I saw her purse her lips as she eyed it critically. She glanced up at me. “I was going through a goth phase.”
I choked on a laugh as I tried to imagine that. “How long did that last?”
She shook her head. “About two weeks. It wasn’t really my thing.”
She remained silent as I finished my self-guided tour of the room. I glanced over at her. “You’ve gone through a lot of phases.”
Her lips twitched as she shrugged but her voice was even. “What can I say? I’m a complicated woman. It took me a while to find myself.”
I grinned and so did she.
“So you’re found now?” I asked, eyeing her from the top of her tousled hair to the bottom of her rabbit-slipper-clad feet.
“Oh yes,” she said, her voice a hilarious monotone as she wiggled her toes in those ridiculous slippers. “I’m all grown up. Super mature.” She gave a haughty sniff. “I’ve got it all figured out.”
I moved toward her, unable to stop this goofy grin she seemed to bring out. “You’ve figured it all out...except for flirting.”
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “That is correct.”
“But…” I clapped my hands together before throwing them out wide. “That’s why I’m here.”
“Right,” she said slowly. “Although, I still don’t get why you’re doing this.”
“It’s my good deed of the semester,” I said with a little wink as I headed over to her bed and fell onto it.
She crossed her arms. “So, does that make me your charity project?”
“Nope,” I said, crossing my arms too as I leaned back against the wall. “It makes you my entertainment.”
She looked wary but her lips were starting to curve up in obvious amusement. “You’re really that bored, huh? I would have thought you had a crazy social calendar, what with being Lakeview High’s star pitcher and most sought after hottie, and all.”
Her cheeks turned a little pink at the hottie comment, but we both ignored it because she’d clearly been kidding.
“Yeah, well, I’m easily bored.”
She eyed me oddly but didn’t prod any further. I didn’t exactly want to explain to her that I haven’t made any good friends here or that I hadn’t wanted to.
I definitely didn’t want to explain why I was here right now, because...I wasn’t totally sure. All I knew was, since I’d started talking to Simone, I’d become more aware than ever that I was going through my days in a haze of boredom.
Maybe I’d been lonelier than I’d thought. Or maybe I just missed having someone to talk to who held my interest and kept me on my toes.
“How do you feel about Hitchcock?” Her question caught me by surprise and I realized she was hovering in front of me, shifting from foot to foot as she tugged at the sleeves of her hoodie.
“I’ve only seen Psycho,” I said.
She gave her head a little shake of exasperation. “And you call yourself a movie lover.”
“I’ve never called myself that, actually,” I said, enjoying the sight of her shuffling around her room in her pajamas and glasses more than anyone should.
Being here was weird but...cozy.
“It’s too quiet in here,” she muttered as she stuck a DVD into an old TV and pressed play. She turned around and I could see her debate written all over her face.
Where was she going to sit?
There were no seats in her room other than the desk chair, which didn’t have a view of the TV.
I patted the bed beside me. “I promise I won’t bite.”
She eyed me warily but then grabbed the magazine and used it as a shield, holding it to her chest tightly as she scooted onto the bed next to me. Close, but not close enough that we were touching.
“Okay,” I said, shifting to face her as the opening credits music swelled behind me. “Tell me what you’ve got.” I nodded toward the magazine.
She bit her lip with a weary sigh. “First of all...most of the suggestions in this one are totally ridiculous.”
It was impossible to keep a straight face. I’d flipped through enough of the “how to land your man” articles to know that this was an understatement. “Agreed. If you start mimic
king his every movement, he’s probably going to call the cops.”
Her lips twitched in amusement. “The only one that makes sense is to find some common ground to get the conversation started.”
She sounded so serious as she plotted out her plan to flirt, it was kind of hilarious.
It was also insanely adorable. I just wanted to pull her close and give her a hug.
I resisted the urge.
“Have you come up with any conversation starters?” I asked instead.
She shifted, her gaze darting back and forth between me and the TV. When she said a line along with Cary Grant, in a deep voice and British accent, I realized just how nervous she was.
She peeked over at me. “I was thinking I’d ask him how he came to play the bass guitar?”
She posed it as a question and I nodded thoughtfully. “So, you...know something about the guitar?”
“No. Nothing,” she said. “I suck at playing instruments.”
“So...not exactly common ground then,” I pointed out.
She pursed her lips in irritation. “Yeah, but Rose said I just had to get a guy talking and then he’d take over. She said most guys love to talk about themselves and will keep the conversation going single-handedly if you let them.”
“Ah. I see.” I stared at the TV screen as I pondered this. I’d heard that stereotype before but I’d never really understood it. I’d always hated when girls I barely knew asked me personal questions. “So, you want a guy who will keep a conversation going by talking about himself all night?”
“Well, no, not necessarily, but it beats me having to make conversation.” She shoved her glasses up her nose and her gaze met mine levelly. “Even you have to admit that I’m not very good at small talk.”
“Even me, huh?”
She huffed at my apparent cluelessness. “Yeah, even you. Mr. Nice Guy.”
Mr. Nice Guy. Was that how people saw me? I shifted uncomfortably. Sounded pretty...boring.
I shot her a sidelong look. Was that how she saw me? As some harmless, boring, asexual nice guy?
“What then?” I asked.
She blinked in surprise at the change in my tone of voice.
I didn’t exactly intend to get all serious but quite frankly, my ego was taking a licking over here. How had it not occurred to me that being the stand-in date was more than mildly humiliating?
Did I seriously have nothing better to do with my time? How pathetic.
“What do you mean, what then?” she asked.
“Well, say this Tony guy gets real talkative about the bass guitar, and all you have to do is listen and nod,” I said. “What happens then?”
She shifted, her gaze dropping to the magazine that had slipped down onto her lap as if the answer was in there. “I don’t know. I try not to mess it up, I guess?”
“Sounds romantic.”
She shot me a quick look. “Are you making fun of me?”
“No, just…” I exhaled loudly. “Maybe a little bit. I guess I’m just curious why you want to date a guy who will only talk about himself and who hasn’t noticed you even though you’re right in front of his face at band practice.”
“Ouch,” she muttered.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean that to be…” Ah crap. I was making a mess of this. “There are plenty of guys who would like you exactly as you are, including bad impersonations and bunny slippers.”
“Really?” she scoffed. “Name one.”
Me.
I swallowed. The word had been right there on the tip of my tongue. She stared at me, waiting for an answer, but I couldn’t speak because my brain was still temporarily stunned into silence.
When I went to speak again, the first word that popped into my head?
Me.
Again.
I cleared my throat and she rolled her eyes. “See? You can’t think of a single person.”
She didn’t sound bitter, just...resigned. Like I’d just confirmed her worst suspicions.
The silence stretched as I tried to figure out a way to answer that question without giving myself away. Because I didn’t like Simone…
Did I?
I stared at the screen just as Cary Grant hopped into a taxi in 1950’s New York City. “How’d you get into old movies?” I asked.
She tensed. “What does that have to do with flirting lessons?”
I shot her a little smile. “Flirting is just talking, Sims.”
She frowned at my use of her dad’s nickname. “Really?”
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s that simple. Flirting is just two people talking, laughing...enjoying each other’s company.”
She pursed her lips as she seemed to think that over.
“So maybe, what you need to feel more confident with your crush is to have some more experience talking to guys.”
“I talk to Jax every day,” she said.
I shot her a knowing look. “Guys who you don’t think of as a brother.”
And please do not tell me you think of me as a brother.
I shook off that thought and turned back to the television.
She was quiet for a moment but then I felt her shift beside me, getting more comfortable as we both turned our attention to the TV. “My dad’s a film director.”
I turned to look at her. “Really?”
She nodded, her gaze focused on the screen. “Or, he was.”
“What happened?”
“Me.” She shot me a little rueful smile. “He still worked on some indie films for a while after I was born, but then my mom died and he had to take care of me so he moved us out of the big city and here we are…” She shrugged as if that was the end of the story.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
She looked over at me with brows arched in question.
“About your mom,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
She blinked a few times. “Thanks.”
We both looked at the screen and I could only blame the cozy comfort of Cary Grant’s image on the screen and the quiet, incessant dialogue in the background because suddenly my mouth opened and…it happened.“My dad died a few years ago.”
I felt her still beside me. “I’m sorry.”
I shrugged as if it was no big deal. As if my world hadn’t come to an end that day. As if I made a habit of telling people about the worst experience of my life.
As if this wasn’t the first time I’d told anyone about my dad since moving to this town.
“How?” she asked.
“Car accident.”
She let out a long exhale. “That sucks.”
I gave a short huff of a laugh because...yeah. It sucked. What else was there to say?
We sat in silence for a while but it wasn’t awkward. It was kind of...sweet. Especially when she shifted a bit so her arm was resting against mine. I knew without a doubt that she wasn’t trying to make a move, she was just trying to give some comfort.
The thought made it hard to swallow.
“I didn’t know,” she said after we’d watched an entire car chase scene. “About your dad, I mean.”
I knew what she’d meant. I looked over but only saw the top of her head and the corner of her glasses. “It happened before we moved here. It’s why we moved.”
She nodded.
I could have just dropped it. I could have let it go…
“And I never told anyone.”
Her head swiveled in my direction. “No one?”
I shrugged. “Not at Lakeview.”
I felt her gaze on me as I pretended to watch the movie. My eyes were on the screen but my mind was racing to figure out exactly what was going on here. Years of keeping silent about anything that actually mattered, and now...here I was. Spilling my guts to a girl who liked some other guy.
“You didn’t want people feeling sorry for you.” She didn’t say it as a question, but a statement and I didn’t argue the point.
Truth was, it had started off with me not wanting to see sympathy in my new fri
ends’ eyes. I didn’t want another round of pitying looks like I’d gotten at my old school before we’d moved.
But then it had become so much easier to just...keep my distance.
Simone shifted until she was facing me fully and I was forced to look her way or rudely ignore her. I looked.
I shouldn’t have.
Her eyes were wide behind those glasses, and despite the flickering reflection in her lenses, I saw it. Sympathy.
It wasn’t pity, at least.
And maybe it was actually more like empathy.
“Is that why you’re all…” She waved a hand. “Aloof?”
“Aloof?” I repeated with a scoff. “No one has ever called me aloof.”
She shrugged, unrepentant. “But you are. I mean, you’re really nice about it—”
Ugh. Nice. There was that word again.
“You’re all smiles and laughs,” she said. “But really...you’re kind of just watching on the sidelines, huh?”
I stared right back at her because...crap. This was not how I’d expected this night to go. I definitely hadn’t expected to be psychoanalyzed.”
She leaned forward slightly until she was so close all I would have to do was shift forward if I wanted to kiss her…
Her eyes were lit with amusement—maybe even excitement. “Everyone thinks you’re so popular and so cool, but really....you’re on the outside looking in.” Her eyes widened. “Just like me!”
She looked so happy about that fact, so genuinely pleased, that I couldn’t even argue.
Also, I couldn’t argue because she was sort of right.
Okay, she was totally right.
And the fact that she knew it and was currently gloating made me want to kiss the heck out of her.
So...there was that.
I wanted to kiss Simone.
I drew in a deep breath as she sat back on her heels to study me. “Maybe you and I have more in common than I thought, Mr. Nice Guy,” she teased.
I smiled because it was impossible not to when she was grinning at me like that. But my brain snagged on the ‘Mr. Nice Guy’ part.
I was nice, sure. But I wasn’t so nice that I would sit back and hand this girl over to some guy who didn’t deserve her.
Not when I wanted her for myself.
And I did. The weight of this new realization shifted, like by acknowledging it, something heavy in my chest lifted and a light, dizzying happiness swelled up in its place.
Striking Out With The Star Pitcher: How to catch a crush #1 Page 7