“I get it, Avery.” Bodie leans over, draping his arm over my shoulder. “But I still think you’re selling us short.”
“Us?”
“Yeah. I bet he would totally do an interview for my podcast if y’all were dating.”
Jabbing my fingers into his side, he recoils, laughing before hauling me closer.
“I’m joking, mostly, but I still think you’re selling yourself short. He’d be the lucky one to snag you, not the other way around.”
I give Bodie a heartfelt smooch on the cheek, then lean my head on his shoulder. “I’m still mad at you. This is all your fault, but I’m glad you finally have time to hang out.”
“Me too.” He kisses the top of my head as I watch the screen, and even though Mr. Comeback’s not pitching, I watch for him anyway. Scanning the dugout for his stupid face any time the camera pans that way. And I’m rewarded a few times with quick glimpses of him alternately smiling and laughing with a teammate, leaning on the railing while squinting out at the field, and spitting directly onto the ground in a way that should be disgusting and crude yet strikes me as casual and commonplace … maybe a hair shy of sexy. Which may be the strangest thing I’ve ever thought. Ugh. Who in their right mind would find expectorating the least bit attractive?
What he said about his dad rings in my head. From what I know （and read after a brief round of Internet research）， Cash Barlowe is a local and much-worshipped hero. I couldn’t find anything that said any different. Even in Carter’s interview clips that I watched （purely for informational purposes）， he gives the same generic answers about his father being a great ball player.
How different was Mr. Big League off the field? Because the man that flashes on my TV screen appears cocky; an arrogant pitcher who has the world at his fingertips. But today, in the gym hallway at Canaan Falls West High School, he was just Carter—a normal guy who I typically would have given a chance, had a cup of coffee with, and seen where it went. But the guy on TV is part of him too, and I don’t know which one is the real Carter.
10
CARTER
It’s been all of forty-eight hours since I walked this same corridor with Avery, and here I am, anxiously making my way to her, unable to get there fast enough. Thanks to the principal on Monday, I’m already in the school system’s visitor registry, so I only had to sign the log in the front office to receive my visitor tag. The principal offered to accompany me again, but I told him I’d stop by after I check in with Avery during her free period. Shit. Already having memorized part of her schedule is a clear indicator that I’m a goner.
Stopping in front of her classroom, I peek through the doorway and spot her sitting at her desk. She’s gorgeous as she concentrates on the papers in front of her, busily writing away. She looks so peaceful. Serene and in her element. And I’m about to destroy that. But I’m determined to convince her to give me a chance, even if I have to tick her off a few times.
Stepping through the doorway, I do my best to maintain her calm vibe. When her eyes dart to me, I clock the shock first before the annoyance covers her face. She lifts a finger to her mouth, telling me to be quiet, before pointing to the back of her classroom. As I move stealthily towards her desk, I spot E.J. sound asleep in his chair.
“I see you put people to sleep at your job too,” I whisper.
“What do you want?” she murmurs in a hushed tone while glowering at me.
“Coffee. With you.” I gesture with the cardboard carrier I hold containing two paper cups and sack filled with pastries that I normally wouldn’t indulge in. “Danishes and croissants. Warm and toasted.”
“You really need to find a hobby or something because you obviously have too much free time on your hands,” she hisses, looking away.
I reach her desk and set the hot beverages down. I’m counting this as a win for now because she hasn’t actually told me to leave. Yet. But that might come soon judging by the frustration flashing across her face. She resumes her task, head down, marking across the paper on her desktop.
I pluck a cup from the carrier and slide it closer to her. “I didn’t know what you take in your coffee so I brought a little of everything.” I offer her the paper sack full of cream and sugar.
She hesitates, then accepts it from me. “Thank you.” I’m close enough where she’s not exactly whispering anymore but has instead adopted this quiet sort of raspy purr. And it’s hot as hell. “Although I still don’t understand what you’re doing here.”