Unrequited(24)

I did as he told me but felt foolish. "Are we doing the hokey pokey?"

"We can do any kind of dancing that you want…later."

His breath was hot on my neck, and I had to bite my tongue to keep from moaning. I steeled myself against the full body hug, but he surprised me again by stepping back and rearranging my arms so my right elbow was bent and my left arm was almost fully extended. "This feels weird."

"Because you've never hit before," he replied patiently.

I gave a few practice swings and then nodded that I was ready. I vowed not to duck, but when he pressed a button and the ball came flying out of the machine, it took a lot for me to stand there and swing the bat. And even at sixty miles per hour (which was not slow), I struck out. I struck out for the next ten balls until I finally hit the top of the ball with the bottom of my bat. Sadly the ball did not fly way out to the end of the alley, nor did I hear that satisfying smack. Instead, it dribbled about two feet away from me.

I pulled off the helmet and handed it to him. "I think hitting a baseball is overrated. I'll just sit on the table and have a drink."

He reached to his back pocket for his wallet, and I stopped him. "I'm paying for my own drink tonight."

He looked like he wanted to argue but wisely did not. As I went to the concession stand, he walked down the alley toward the machine. Probably to turn it up to five hundred miles per hour or something.

I sat with my soda and bag of candy and proceeded to watch him crush the ball ten times out of ten.

"Were you disappointed you didn't get a baseball scholarship?"

"No way. Do you know how hard they work?" He stopped, and the ball flew by him into the net. I quirked an eyebrow at him. He twisted the bat in his hands and then tapped it against his feet like he had done when he was in high school, when he’d been in the on deck circle. "Our frat had several guys on the baseball team, and they were busy nonstop, even during the off season. Lifting weights, in the batting cages, running drills. I didn't want to put the time and effort into it."

I heard a tiny bit of disappointment in his voice, and I wasn't sure what to assign it to: the fact he hadn't played baseball, or that he thought it was a mountain not worth climbing.

After another round of his bat meeting balls, he finally got tired and exited the cage to join me at the table. He sat and grabbed my bottle of Dr. Pepper and drank half. "Here's the deal, Winter. I want you to give us a try. One week, no thinking about other people, the past, anything. Just you and me. After the week is up and you never want to see me again, fine. But you need to give me the week."

A week with Finn, pretending like we had no complicated backstory? It sounded too good to be true. When I opened my mouth to say no, my heart talked for me. "Okay. One week."

"Great." A huge grin stretched across his face. "How about the concert in the park on Saturday?"

I started to object, because what would I tell Ivy, but he knew exactly what my protest would be.

"You agreed. One week. No other people."

I pressed my lips together and nodded.

One week. Just the two of us.





9





FINN


"Are you humming?" Bo asked.

I looked up from pulling on the dingiest carpet I'd seen in months. This house I'd picked up was vile, worse than usual. Bo had suggested it was a meth factory, given the needles, rotten egg smell, and burnt patches on the walls and flooring. It could have been, or it might just have been an ordinary addict's house, but there was shit everywhere.

If I was humming, I didn't realize it, but I was in a decent mood. I figured once I got Winter to just sit and talk with me, we’d work it out. That was something worth humming about.

I just shrugged and went back to work. "Just trying to block out the god-awful music you choose to play. You've been up north here for almost a year. Can't you play anything but country songs?”

"I could." Bo paused to toss a handful of staples in the trash. "But I know it annoys the hell out of you. And that makes the music sound that much sweeter."

"Too bad you don't know shit all about constructing a house and you still have to hang on my dick until you can get it right."

"Which is why I play music you hate. It fits our dysfunctional relationship."

"I thought you were going to therapy to fix your problems."

"If by ‘therapy’ you mean having a ton of awesome sex with my girlfriend, then yes, I'm in therapy all night and random times during the day." I snorted but wisely said nothing. "But speaking of therapy," Bo continued. My response was a loud groan that I hoped would be hint enough that I didn't want to talk about whatever it was that followed. Bo ignored me. "How's your mom?"