Page 15 of Stealing Summer
I nodded nervously, now worried about how the game was going to go.
“Speaking of,” he said, crumpling a napkin in his hand with a simple motion, “I’ll wake up Boston while you get dressed. We gotta get to the field.”
I paused mid-sip as I turned to face him, my movements punctuated by a sense of sudden intrusion into my planned lazy morning. “Why do I have to go?”
“Because,” Parker continued, clearly annoyed he had to explain further, “We have to go grocery shopping after we get our uniforms.” He opened the empty fridge and pointed inside.
I let out an exaggerated huff, dropping my cup in the sink. “Fine.”
I quickly changed into an outfit that Parker would deem more appropriate and tagged along.
“Chandler, come on! Coach said he’d have the uniforms ready by now,” Parker called back to me, frustrated that I wasn’t keeping up with him and Boston.
“Right behind you!” I hoisted the strap of my bag higher onto my shoulder and picked up my pace.
Parker and Boston disappeared into the clubhouse, leaving me standing alone outside the building. I noticed a group of people playing a casual game of softball. They were all having a good time, laughing and teasing each other. My eyes immediately landed on Reese, who was pitching, of course—and looking as gorgeous as ever despite the scorching heat.
“Chandler!” Willow spotted me and jogged over. “Come be on my team! We need one more player to bat.”
“Willow, I don’t know—” I began, hesitating as I looked over my shoulder for Parker or Boston.
“Come on, it’ll be fun!” Her bubbly personality was hard to resist. “Don’t make me beg.”
“Alright, fine,” I conceded with a laugh, dropping my bag to the ground as I followed behind her.
“Besides,” she whispered as I followed her, “you get to bat against Reese. Maybe knock that cocky smile off his face when you hit a home run.”
“One can only dream,” I laughed, eyeing Reese’s confident stance on the mound. His eyes flicked toward us briefly, acknowledging my approach with a slight nod.
“Chandler’s up!” Willow announced to the field, and a few heads turned—some with curiosity, others with a smile that the game was back in action.
“Let’s see what you’ve got, little Hartford,” Reese taunted.
With a deep breath, I squared up to the plate, determined to focus, to hit it as hard as I could back at Reese, to show him that I had much more in me than just Parker’s little sister.
I took my stance at home plate, and he locked eyes with me before he lifted his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, revealing a flash of those unfairly sculpted and perfectly toned abs.
“Bring it in close, boys!” he yelled out to the outfielders with an impish smirk as he made a gesture with his hand. I narrowed my eyes and tightened my grip on the bat, angry that he would underestimate me.
“Jerk,” I whispered under my breath, as I leaned in closer to the plate.
“Did you say something?” he raised his chin.
“Just throw the ball,” I snapped back.
“You asked for it,” he drawled before winding up.
Reese’s smirk grew as he started his windup, but I knew something he didn’t—I wasn’t some amateur. He had no idea how many days I spent practicing and playing in the backyard with Parker and Boston.
His pitch came hurtling towards me, and I was ready. The ball rocketed off the bat, aimed straight at Reese’s ego.
“Nice hit!” a voice from behind me cheered, and I knew without looking it was Willow. It bolstered my confidence as I watched the ball do exactly what I’d intended—served as a fuck off to Reese.
It just missed his head as he ducked—a flash of surprise in his smug eyes. The line drive shot past him, soaring far beyond what the outfielders had anticipated. They scrambled back, their shoes kicking up dirt and grass, but the ball was beyond their reach, slicing through the field.
I shot a wink at Reese and didn’t wait to see where it landed. Then, with a nonchalant flick of the wrist, I tossed the bat aside and walked off the field. My heart pounded—not just for the hit, but for the obvious message sent. I could still feel Reese’s gaze on me as I walked away, burning with something that might have been respect—or maybe the sting of being shown up around his friends.
Boston smiled as he watched by the clubhouse. He leaned against the brick wall, his arms crossed. “Too bad you just missed him.”