Play Hard (Make the Play #2) (2 page)

“Nice game, man.” Chris slaps me on the back as we make our way off the field, bat bags slung over our shoulders. Equipment rattles inside. The sky is dark, the air cool.

“Thanks,” I say. “You too.” Glancing up, I spot my sister waiting at the edge of the grass. She throws a wave in our direction. I wave back even though I know she’s more interested in Chris’s attention than mine. There was a time when she came to my games to cheer me on. Now she’s definitely Chris’s personal cheerleader. Everyone on the team can hear her squeal every damn time he makes a catch. And since he’s the catcher, you can imagine how many times per game that happens. On top of that, Emmy’s scream is impossible not to notice. In the past Chris would have been irritated with it, but nothing about Emmy irritates him now. He’s head over freaking heels for her. Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy that Em found someone who treats her well.

It sure beats the hell out of that loser Josh that she was with before. But if I’m being honest, it’s weird that she’s with my best friend. Even though they’ve been together for over a month, I’m still having a hard time adjusting to it.

Chris and Emmy were always tight in their own way. A little sister/big brother kind of way. And I was okay with that. Now they’re tight in a different way. A kissing, touching, holding hands and being all lovey-dovey kind of way. And I’m trying to be okay with that. Trust me. I’m trying real hard.

“Hey, guys,” Emmy greets us when we approach. Her gaze rests on me. “You were totally throwing gas tonight, Cal.”

My lips edge upward. I always think it’s funny when Em tries to talk like one of the guys. Chris and I used to tease her endlessly about it. “Throwing gas, huh?” Cocking an eyebrow, I glance over at Chris, but his eyes are trained on Emmy, and there is no laughter in them.

She steps forward and he wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her close.

“And you were amazing as always, my big stud,” she says to him. Grinning, she lifts up on her tip-toes and brushes her lips over his. He responds by sliding his hands up her spine and kissing her firmly.

My stomach sours. Turning my head, I take a deep breath.
Come on, Cal. Keep your cool.
Emmy and Chris are my favorite people in the whole world. And they make each other happy. That should make me happy, right?
Right.
And deep down it does. Peering over, the kiss is getting more intense. Shaking my head, I stare hard at the ground.

For the first few weeks of their relationship I made a big fuss about it when they kissed, but I’ve stopped doing that. They’re together, and I know they kiss whether I want them to or not. Hell, I’ve walked in on them more times than I can count. So about a week ago, I gave up and stopped saying anything about it. They’ve clearly taken my silence as permission.

Only, really, I wish they wouldn’t do it in front of me.

I mean, she’s my sister. I don’t want to see that.

“I’m gonna take off,” I say without looking in their direction.

“Wait,” Chris stops me.

I whirl around. They’ve stopped kissing, thank god. Chris has his arm around Emmy’s waist, and her body is molded to his like they are two puzzle pieces conjoined.

“Let’s go out and do something. Celebrate the win,” Chris says.

Emmy nods and smiles. “Yeah. It’ll be like old times.”

I almost say yes, but her statement stops me. It’s never going to be like old times. Our dynamic has changed. I’ve become the third wheel with my best friend and my sister, and I don’t like it one bit.

I know it makes me sound selfish, but it’s how I feel.

And it’s not how I want to celebrate our victory.

“No, thanks. You two go have fun.” In an effort to make them think everything is okay, I throw Chris a wink. “Be good.”

He grins. “I’m not making any promises.” Emmy giggles, her hand fluttering over his chest.

My smile falters. “Not cool, man.”

“Sorry.” He narrows his eyes as if trying to decipher if I’m joking or not.

I’m not, but the last thing I want is to seem like a stick in the mud. So I smile. “That’s my sister, man. Don’t be a dick.”

“Fine.” He chuckles. “We’ll be good.” Drawing her closer, he tickles her middle with his thumb. “Won’t we?”

“I’m not the one who got in trouble.” She raises her brows.

“Hey.” I point to her. “I can drag your ass home right now, little sis.”

“Okay, Dad.” She nods, eyes wide like she’s Miss Innocent. It’s a look that does actually work on our dad, but I know her better than that. “We’ll be good.”

I shake my head at her calling me Dad. It’s a tactic I’ve used on her for years – calling her Mom when she’s bossy. Looks like the tables have turned. Man, if I’m acting like Dad it’s time to get out of here.

“I’m out.” Lifting my hand, I wave. “See ya later.”

I try not to take offense to the fact that neither of them seem bummed that I’m leaving. In fact, they don’t even try to talk me out of it. Instead, they both throw out a goodbye and then return their attention to each other. When I reach the parking lot, I glance over my shoulder in time to see them lip-locked again. Shaking my head, I hurry to my car.

I toss my bat bag inside, then slide into the driver’s side. After turning on the engine, hip hop music spills from the speakers. Bobbing my head to the beat, I pull out of the lot. My fingers involuntarily strum on the steering wheel. I always think that if I wasn’t a baseball player I’d be a musician. A rockstar. Maybe a drummer. They’re pretty cool.

Then again, the lead singer’s the one that gets all the chicks. I smile. He’s a lot like the pitcher. He’s the front man, the leader, the one everyone looks up to. My smile slips at the realization that I’m driving home from the game alone, musing about becoming a rockstar. My best friend is off with his girlfriend and I’m going home to watch TV or do something equally as boring.

What is wrong with this picture?

Chris and I have never really had girlfriends. We date, we hook up, we have fun, we go out, but we don’t do commitment. At least we didn’t. Now Chris is in a committed relationship. Odd that the one girl to break through Christian’s commitment phobia is my sister. The girl that used to irritate the hell out of him. The girl he used to try to ditch at every opportunity. The girl he used to fight with and pick on.

Now he loves her.

Go figure.

I never thought I’d be interested in a relationship. At least not in high school. Probably not even in college. We have our whole adult lives to be tied down to one person. But we only have one shot at being teenagers and college students. But then I met Melissa. It’s not like I was ever in love or with her or anything. We didn’t even date that long.

However, I liked her a lot.

She was fun, smart, and sexy.  And I wanted to be with her. Not forever, but for awhile. Maybe even a long while. I’m not even sure I understood how much I liked her until she broke it off with me. Normally when a girl did that I couldn’t care less.

I’d be like, “Sayonara. Good riddance. Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out.”

But this time I was all like, “Boo-hoo. Let me go get drunk so I don’t have to think, so I don’t have to feel.”

Honestly, it kind of scared me. I’m not an emotional guy. I’ve never been accused of being sentimental or sensitive, but with Melissa I was softening. Now she’s dating some other guy. Some older, college pre-med student or something like that.

So, she’s a gold digger, I take it. Glad I found that out now.

And, really, wait until I make it into the major leagues. Then Mr. Doctor won’t look as good, will he?

Blowing out a breath, I turn onto my street. Our house is lit up, Mom’s office window glowing. My insides knot, and I pray I’ll be able to sneak in past her. I’m not in the mood for a chat with Mom. Dad I can handle right now because he’ll want to talk sports and rehash the game. But Mom doesn’t like to talk sports. The romance author in her always has romance on the brain. And romance is the last thing on my mind. Mostly because my love life sucks right now.

Man, I never thought I’d say this, but I need to get a life.

I’ve just entered another circle of hell – the school cafeteria.

It’s a sea of jeans and flannels, ponytails, gelled hair and sports jerseys. I stick out like a sore thumb in my shredded jeans and black t-shirt. Students are all huddled at tables, chatting and laughing with their friends. A few heads bob up when I enter, but no one greets me. Instead, they flash me curious glances before whispering to the person next to them. It’s not unexpected. I haven’t exactly given off a warm and friendly vibe.

Still it stings a little.

Being completely alone at lunch is new for me. It’s not like I was Miss Popularity at my last school. Then again, that was never what I was aiming for. I had my group, and I fit into it nicely. And even though we weren’t considered popular, no one messed with us. In fact, it’s safe to say that most people were scared of us. Well, maybe not scared of me exactly, but with the people I hung with. It made me feel safe, actually.

Until it didn’t.

Shivering, I step forward. Chills snake down my spine, goosebumps rising on my flesh. Funny how just thinking about my old life can cause a visceral reaction. As much as I miss it, I’m also glad I’m far away from it too. Man, I’m so messed up right now. My emotions couldn’t be more conflicted.

Mom says this is a normal way to feel right now, but it doesn’t make it any easier. I’ve always thought of myself as a pretty levelheaded person. My parents might not agree with this assessment, but that’s okay. We rarely see eye to eye on stuff. But usually I know how I feel. I’m not wishy-washy like some girls, but lately I seem to be all over the place.

Weaving through the cafeteria, my stomach twists. I pass a table filled with musclebound guys wearing baseball caps. By their large, cocky smiles and the emblem on their hats, I assume they’re on the baseball team. These guys are like local celebrities around here. I almost laugh out loud picturing them at my old school. No one would give a crap about them there. Maybe if they were football players. Then again, the group I hung out with couldn’t care less about any of the jocks.

My gaze catches on one of the players. Brown tufts of hair peek out from under the bill of his cap. When he reaches for his water bottle, the muscles on his arm bulge. Lifting his head, his eyes meet mine, and that’s when I recognize him. Not that we’ve ever met, but he’s the talk of the campus. His name is Cal, and he’s the pitcher for the Prairie Creek Panthers. From what I’ve seen he’s pretty full of himself. The odd thing is that I have his sister in my geometry class, and she appears to be opposite from him. She’s quiet and studious, while he’s loud and arrogant. Cal surprises me with a smile. Pulse quickening, I avert my gaze without smiling back.

I know guys like him, and trust me, it’s never a good idea to encourage them. Head bent, I hurry toward the food line. If only I’d brought my lunch today. But I’d been running late, so Aunt Molly shoved a five dollar bill into my hand before I’d gotten out of the car.

Most kids my age drive themselves to school, and I could too. I have my license. But my car is back home. Besides, I doubt Aunt Molly or Uncle Alex would trust me enough to let me drive anywhere at this point.

Blowing out a breath, I move forward in line. The scent of BO and perfume circle me as I follow the painfully slow line up to the food. It’s slim pickings by the time I reach the front. I select a chef salad in a plastic container and carry it to the register. After paying, I clutch the salad in my hand and hurry toward the glass doors leading out to the quad. My gaze is so focused on the doors that I’m not paying attention to my surroundings and I run right into some guy’s chest. Instinctively, I throw up my free arm to shield myself. My palms connect with his chest and I’m struck by how hard his muscles are.

Heart thumping, I step back.

“Sorry,” the guy mumbles.

I glance up, my breath hitching as my gaze connects with Cal. His eyes are dark and penetrating as he stares down at me. From this close I can see why the whole school seems to worship him. Every inch of him is perfect, from his chiseled face, dark eyes, full lips, strong nose and muscles rippling his body. Good thing I’m not into that kind of guy or I might fall for him this instant. Swallowing hard, I back up.

“Taylor, right?” he asks.

I nod, my throat tight.

“I’m Cal.” He thrusts his hand out.

Taking a deep breath, I fold my hand over his. He grips my fingers tightly as he shakes my hand. His palms are warm, his flesh calloused and rough. It’s the first time anyone besides my aunt or uncle have touched me since I’ve been here, and oddly enough it feels good. Too good. I withdraw my hand quickly and steady myself.

“Um…nice to meet you,” I fumble with the words, my gaze flickering to the glass doors.

“You too.” He smiles, causing his charm meter to skyrocket.
Man, this guy has everything going for him, doesn’t he?

“Cal!” A male voice calls out, and Cal’s eyes slide past me.

He throws me an apologetic look before stepping around me. “See ya around.”

“Yeah,” I whisper, hating that my heart dips a little at how quickly he dismisses me. Not that I expected any different. He was only being polite. And really, it’s not like I care. He’s not my type. Not at all.

I bet he doesn’t know a thing about skateboards.

Or a thing about my world.

Glancing over my shoulder, I spot him laughing with his friends. Absentmindedly, he reaches up and tugs down on his baseball cap with his thumb and index finger. I try to imagine what his life must be like. I’ll bet he’s lived a sheltered life filled with field parties and baseball games. Probably couldn’t even survive in my old neighborhood. As I continue to watch him, I wonder if that’s such a bad thing.

I mean, look at me.

I may have survived, but at what cost?

Spinning around, I race outside. The air is cool, but I welcome it. The scent of damp earth fills my senses as I take a seat under a nearby tree. The grass is slightly wet and water seeps through my jeans, but I don’t care. It beats sitting inside. Opening my salad, I pour on the dressing and mix it with the plastic fork. Spearing the lettuce, I take a bite. Chewing, I glance around the quad. Students are scattered around, some sitting on the cement while others are huddled on the grass. Most are with friends but a few are alone. However, the loners are hunched over their cell phones, their fingers flying over the touch screen.

My heart pinches. I miss my phone, but Mom took it from me before I came here. It was the only way to truly cut off my ties to my former friends; to my former life. Aunt Molly offered to get me a new phone if I wanted it, but I don’t see the point. It’s not like I have anyone to contact. I haven’t made any friends here, and all my old friend’s numbers are programmed in my phone back home. Mom probably burned that sucker. She’s afraid that if I have a phone, I’ll try to reach out to my old group through Facebook or Instagram or something. However, if I want to do that I can anywhere. We have computers at school, at the library, even at home. Trust me, I want to stay hidden as much as my parents want me to. I have no desire to be found right now.

As much as I hate to admit it, I need this time.

And I plan to take it.

But I’m not going to get too cozy here because eventually I’ll be ready to go home. Ready to face everything.

I’ll even be strong enough to face
him
.