A Boy Like You (Like Us Book 1)(6)

"Yep," I say, leaning away from the fence while holding on, stretching  my arms. I glance at Wes over his shoulder, his hat still low over his  eyes. He's looking at me-his weight leaning on one leg, his glove  propped against the hip of the other. "Want me to show you how to hit  it?"

The catcher starts to laugh behind him, his hand balled in a fist over  his mouth. "Day-umm. She just called you out, TK!" he says.

TK swings his bat around his body, sliding it through his hand and  holding the grip side out, his lips pursed and his eyebrows raised in  expectation. I chuckle to myself, and look down, shaking my head.

"Oh, you don't really want to show me? Is that it?" he taunts, holding  his other hand out to the side as he takes slow strides backward toward  the makeshift home plate.

"Don't be an asshole, TK. She was just being nice," the catcher says. I  like that he's sticking up for me, but he's wrong-I wasn't being nice. I  was calling TK out on his weaknesses.

I glance to Taryn, who knows I'm not leaving here without sending the  ball back at the pitcher's knees. She laughs quietly then moves to the  front level of the bleachers a few feet behind us as I step around the  backstop, my hand dragging along the fence until I reach the end. I stop  before the dirt, bending down to tie my shoes, then pull my flannel  shirt from my arms, tying it around my waist. I wore my black tank top  with the thin rose painted down the middle, and my arms chill from the  wind. I can't swing in anything clingy, though, so I rub both of my arms  a few times before reaching out for his bat.

"TK," I say his name, taking the heavy bat from his hands. I flip it  around to read the numbers; it's a few ounces heavier than I'm used to. I  tap the barrel against the bottom of my shoe a few times, then close  one eye as I look back up to my sparring partner. "So does that stand  for Technical Knockout?"

He laughs once through his closed mouth, the sound rumbling from his  chest. I smile at the sound because he reminds me of Conner, except  Conner's laughter bellows, because he's about two hundred pounds of his  mom's pies and cookies. TK is two hundred pounds of Mack Truck. "Uhm,  that would be TKO, Cherry. And no, it stands for Thomas Kennedy," he  nods.

"Cherry?" I scowl, slapping the bat in my hand like I'm tougher than I actually am.         

     



 

"Yeah, your cheeks are all red and round. They look like cherries." The  same laugh mixes with his words. I join in, looking over at my friend,  now sitting in the center on the bleachers, her legs folded up  underneath her. She shakes her head, because she knows me-I don't do  nicknames, especially not ones like cherry.

"Ahhhh, I see," I say, stepping up to the plate. Wes shuffles his feet  around the rubber on the mound. Up this close, I can see his eyes under  the shadow of his hat, and I catch him rolling them, his mouth a hard  line. He's not amused, and he thinks this is a waste of time.

"I thought cherry was a commentary on my virginity," I say, steadying my  feet into place as I swing the bat around twice before resting it on my  shoulder. I feel them all freeze at my mention of the word virginity.  "If that were the case … TK … I ain't no cherry."

The blond guy starts coughing to cover his shocked laugh. TK and Wes  remain silent, TK running his hand over his mouth while Wes's jaw flexes  and his tight mouth bends into disapproval. Fuck him-now I really am  going to take out his kneecaps.

"You gonna pitch? Or you wanna stand there a little while longer and judge me?"

Taryn whistles softly behind me, and TK chuckles while he takes a few steps back.

"A'right, Wes. Let's see what she's got," the catcher says, crouching down and patting his glove a few times.

Wes turns his head, tucking his chin into his shoulder, working the ball  in his fingers against his thigh. His lips part, and he says something  to himself. I can't hear him, but I'm pretty sure he didn't say anything  nice.

I dig my foot in while he shifts his body, readying for the throw.

"Show him how it's done, Cherry!" Taryn chants from behind the backstop.  I pull my hand from the bat and flip her off. It only makes her laugh  again. I'm sure she's giving me the finger back, but I don't bother to  look.

Wes shakes his hand by his side, then brings the ball into his glove,  his eyes lazily looking at the plate as he cocks back and tosses the  ball with an arc to the catcher. I drop the bat and snag it before it  hits his glove.

"Don't," I say, shaking my head at him. I fire the ball back, hoping the  sting of it punctuates my point. He lets the ball sit in his glove in  front of him, his eyes squinting at mine, his jaw working while he chews  at the inside of his mouth. "Don't treat me like I'm not just as good  as you."

My cheeks burn a little. I'm letting him piss me off, and that pisses me  off. I swing the bat around again and rest it on my shoulder, twisting  my back foot into the dirt. He tosses the ball in his hand a few times  then steps back to the mound, repeating the same presentation as before,  never once adjusting his grip or moving the ball in his hand. He's  going to throw me the heat.

Good.

His wind up is the same; his motion-the same, and I arm my muscles  early, knowing I'll have to swing fast. My bat is at the plate the  second the ball is, and I foul it off behind me over the fence, into the  dirt lot overrun with weeds.

"You're finding that," TK says.

"Whatever," I answer, nodding for Wes to pitch me another.

He bends down and grabs another ball from the bucket behind him, rubbing  it on his shorts a few times, his thumb twisting it in his hand until  his fingers have all found a seam. He doesn't adjust again, and I know  he's going to try to catch me off balance.

Wes winds up, and everything in my world slows down-I hear my own breath  stop, I see the way his sweatshirt rides up around his waist, I notice  how low his shorts rest on his hips and how absolutely touchable his  stomach is. His mouth gets tight, his face showing the restraint he's  putting into every frame of his movement, and his eyes look driven. When  the ball releases, I watch the rotation, sitting back just long enough  to step with the pitch and send the ball to the fence down the third  base line.

I didn't hit it at him like I wanted to. But I hit it hard. I made my  point. And the fact that he's resting his glove and throwing hand on his  head, watching my ball bounce to a stop about three hundred feet out  leaves me more satisfied than any high.

"I'm Levi Stokes, and I think I want to marry you," the catcher says, taking the bat from my hand.

I laugh lightly, unable to stop my smile at his over-the-top line. It's  sweet. And while most girls would probably swoon over a guy that looks  like him-blond hair, green eyes, muscular build-Levi Stokes is not my  type. I don't want a type, really. But I also know I have one, and  Wes-he's pretty much the paint-by-numbers version of my greatest crush  weaknesses.         

     



 

"Thanks, Levi," I say, glancing to the mound where Wes is now pacing,  tossing a ball, bored with me already. His indifference stings, and I  hate that I care. "But I don't want to have to take care of a man all my  life." I add this just to get a reaction. It catches Wes's attention,  and he takes a few steps closer. "Marriage is shit-no offense. You can  give me and my girl here a ride home, though."

"Deal," Levi says, reaching out his hand for me to shake. I take it, and his grip is hard-masculine.

"Damn, Cherry. That shit was tight," TK says, holding out knuckles for  me. I smirk at his hand and pound my fist lightly into his.

"Thanks, Knock Out," I wink. "And you can call me Joss."

"I don't know, you're pretty sweet-like a cherry," he laughs.

"If you call me cherry again, I'll punch you," I say quickly. He shakes  his head with a chuckle, holding up a hand to point at me.

"Okay, Joss. Joss the boss," he winks.

I roll my eyes, but when I turn around, I smile because boss is a whole lot better than cherry.

"We're just going to hit a few more. You girls okay sticking around?" Levi asks.

"Fine by us," I say, rounding the fence and sitting on the bottom  bleacher next to my friend. "We'll just wait here so we can, you know,  give you more pointers?"

"Ha … teach me anything you want, Boss," TK says, stepping back into the box.

I stand to untie my flannel from around my waste, sliding my arms  through again. I let the sleeves drape on me, though, letting one fall  off my shoulder enough that it exposes my bare skin and the black strap  of my tank top. Levi looks at it, and licks his lips before sliding his  mask over his face and kneeling down next to TK. He's so easy. He's also  not the reason I did it.

Wes is wearing his hat low again, and he reaches up to adjust it before  digging his foot into the mound. He's counting on the shadow of his brim  to mask him, but it's not dark enough. I can still see his eyes-and  they're on me. I let my lip curl on one side as I tug my hair loose from  the ponytail before I sit down to watch, my blond strands twisting and  knotting in the breeze. I sweep my hair over my other shoulder, happy  that Wes is watching every movement. And between each pitch, those  eyes … they always come back to me.