Page 42 of Bad Ball Hitter
Coffee. A meeting. The heaviness in my chest lifts. This could be it—the pivotal moment where all the pieces start to fall into place.
“I’d like that,” I reply, pressing my lips together to still their trembling. “I mean, yes, let’s do that.”
“Tomorrow morning, then? The café on the corner of Ninth?” He’s already reaching for his phone as if he knows I’ll agree and completely ignore the fact he suggested meeting on a Saturday outside his regular office hours.
“Tomorrow works.” I nod, tucking a stray lock of blonde hair behind my ear. This chance he’s offering feels like a lifeline, and I’m ready to grab hold with both hands, even if it means stepping out onto a limb that might just snap beneath my weight.
“Perfect. It’s a date.” The words hang between us, and for a second, I wonder if there’s a double meaning buried within them. But no, this is business—it has to be.
“Thank”—my voice breaks, and I clear my throat—“thank you, Jett. For this opportunity.”
“Of course?—”
The door bursts open with a force that sends the delicate wind chimes into a frenzy—Miranda storms in, her brunette waves streaming behind her like the wake of a ship. My stomach drops. She looks like she’s on a mission to take someone down. The only problem is the stare is directed toward me.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Lila
“Can we talk? Now.” Her voice slices through the hum of dryers and soft music, leaving no room for argument.
My cheeks burn with embarrassment as I glance at Jett, his confident posture faltering. “I’m so sorry, I?—”
“Sorry?” Miranda’s eyes lock onto mine, and their anger makes me cringe. Her hands rest on her hips, the red lipstick starkly contrasting to her white-knuckled grip.
“Miranda, this isn’t the time,” I murmur, wishing the floor would swallow me whole. “I’m working.”
Jett leans against the counter, arms folded. Max lets out a low, vicious growl, eyes trained on Miranda. Yeah, I don’t like her either, buddy.
“Is everything okay?” Jett asks.
“It’s fine,” I manage to say, but Miranda’s huff contradicts my words.
“No, everything is not fine. Not by a long shot.” She steps toward me, and Max barks, baring teeth.
I utter, “Good dog,” under my breath and point to the door. “Let’s step outside. This isn’t the place for whatever you have to say.”
Miranda gives a curt nod, her heels clicking a staccato rhythm against the tile as she leads the way.
I cast an apologetic glance back at Jett, the soft light catching the apology in my eyes before I follow her out. Anger rises to the surface, but I tamp it down. I can’t seem unprofessional in front of the person who might secure my loan. If she has ruined my chances, I’m going to … I don’t know what I’ll do, but it’ll be bad.
Miranda’s strides are purposeful, her posture rigid with every step we take away from the shop and into the relative privacy of the sidewalk. I trail after her, my heart thumping against my ribs, wondering what could have brought on this sudden anger.
“Drake,” she spits out the name as if it leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, her eyes drilling into me. I should’ve known this was about him. It’s been two weeks since Drake took care of me, and she’s still harboring ill feelings.
“What about him?” I ask, trying to be neutral. In all fairness, she has every right to be upset—I wouldn’t want to walk in and see my boyfriend wrapped up in another girl—but nothing is happening between us. We’re just old friends catching up.
It doesn’t matter that I thought about him all night after he left. He isn’t mine.
“What’s going on, Lila?”
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear to anchor myself. “Nothing’s going on. I haven’t spoken to him since I was sick.”
“You mean the day he couldn’t wait to play knight in shining armor?” She lets out a haughty laugh. “He hasn’t met me since that day.”
I feel a strange satisfaction at that thought, but I shake it off, not liking how my body responds. I can’t let this become a distraction. Not now, with everything hanging in the balance. He isn’t mine.
“Didn’t he have a stretch of away games?” I ask.