This Is Falling(80)

“Hang on, I need to log onto that website, where you can make your own shirts. I’m doing this today,” he says, trying to sit back up before I pull him back down on top of me.

“You know what, that’s a good idea. You can wear it when you meet my dad tomorrow. In fact, I’ll tell him you ordered him one, too!” And…checkmate. Nate’s smile falls flat; he lies down next to me, pulling the blanket up over us and tucking me deep within his arms.

“Okay, point made. You win with the dad-move. Now I’m pretty sure I’m not going to be able to look him in the eyes after what I’ve done,” he says, and I can detect the truth behind his joking.

“He’s going to love you. So is my mom,” I say, squeezing him tightly before I get him with one last zinger. “And when I tell them you gave me my first orgasm—”

“Okay! I get it!” he says, kissing me just to shut me up.





Chapter 24





Nate





Maybe I would have been nervous anyway, but ever since Rowe made the joke about me giving her…that…and telling her father, well? I’ve been sweating a lot today, and I haven’t taken the field at all yet. Her parents are in the stands sitting with her. Ty sent me a text—with a picture. They look nice.

“Hitting cleanup today, Preet,” coach yells over the sound of the balls cracking off bats. There’s something therapeutic about being in here, in the cages, with five or six guys all hitting at once. The noise is constant, distracting—I guess that’s why some people like wind chimes. I tip my helmet and nod, then take another swing, careful to watch my shoulder and my follow-through. It makes me smile every time.

After a really solid round, I grab my gear and head over to the bullpen to suit up. When I’m done, I walk over to the entrance and look to get a handle on where they’re sitting. Rowe’s waving at me to come over, her parents standing on either side of her, so I prop the mask up on my head and jog over, the entire time reminding myself not to make an ass out of myself in front of her father.

“Hey,” she says, her voice warm and perfect and God I want to kiss her mouth. But I don’t, because her father is right there, looking at me, like fathers do. And he should. Because I am the guy—the one who did things to his daughter last night. I’m so going to fuck this up.

“Hey, thanks for coming,” I say, catching her in an awkward hug as she leans over the wall to kiss me. We end up in some weird half-embrace, kissing each other’s cheeks like we’re French. I feel pretty lame, and it just gets worse when I catch her mom chuckling.

“Nate, nice to meet you son. I’m Tom Stanton, and this is my wife, Karen,” her dad reaches out to shake my hand. I’m sure to grip him hard, but not too hard, and after we shake, I feel relief that at least I passed one tiny stupid test. Only a million more to go.

“Nice to meet you. Thanks for coming out today.” I’m squinting a little because the morning sun is behind them still. It’s hot for late October—and I’m already feeling the weight of the gear.

“Pleasure’s all ours, Nate. I’m excited to see what you can do out here. I’ve heard great things about you,” he says, and I’m not sure if he’s talking about things he’s heard from Rowe or just baseball in general. I’m just glad he used the word great, though, so I move on.

“I hope I can deliver. I’ll try to hit you a foul ball,” I laugh, lightly and nervously, while inside I kick myself for being such an idiot.

“Oh, that’d be exciting. Do we get to keep those?” Rowe’s mom says, and I smile, stifling my laugh, when I notice Rowe rolling her eyes behind her.

“Yes, ma’am. Part of the payoff for getting hit with a ball, I suppose.” Karen just nods, and I stand there while the rest of the conversation dives into a really uncomfortable silence.

“Right, well, I better get back to the bullpen. I’ve got a pitcher to warm,” I say, turning to look at Rowe and give her a look that hopefully conveys I’m sorry I’m such a tool wagon.

“Pitchers are prima donnas, Nate. You walk slowly. It’s good for them to realize they can’t throw until someone’s there to make them look good.” I like Rowe’s dad. “We’ll see you again for dinner, okay?”

I turn around to walk backward to answer him, doing my best to fall somewhere between fast and slow with my walk because, hell, I don’t want my pitchers hating me. “Looking forward to it, Tom. I’ll see you at sex.”

Motherfucker. I just said sex. I said sex…to Rowe’s dad! And there is no mistaking it, and he knows it’s what I said, and Rowe’s eyebrows could not possibly be any higher on her forehead. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. I pull the mask down—thank god I’m a catcher—and turn around like I did nothing wrong. Maybe he’ll think it’s all in his head. Either way, that was easily the worst win-over-the-dad move ever. I better play well today for this man, otherwise I might as well just hand over the bat and let him hit me with it at our sex-o’clock dinner.