Page 55 of Chasing Headlines

I blew out a breath and shot another glare at my Economics book. “Fine, you win.” I groaned and opened the textbook of doom.

Breslin POV

Baseball Field House

I scrubbed a hand over my face. Eberhardt had tagged Jimenez at the start of practice. That asshole was getting repsat catcher with the rostered team from last year. On the other side of the field, Schorr was working personally with Meyers. I'd heard him say something to Jacobs about developing a slider-cutter combo. Four pitches for a college pitcher was a serious advantage, even in D1.

They're leaving me behind.My heart squeezed . . . hard, and pulled on every nerve ending in my body.

I was still in with the freshman troop. Granted, there had already been several rounds of cuts. But, I wanted,neededto be on the roster. The starting roster.

“Hey Coop. Wanna say something to your fans out there?” Milline held her phone out—entering my personal space. I considered throwing the damned thing on the ground and crushing it beneath my cleats.

“No comment.” I bit out between clenched teeth.

She rolled her eyes and huffed. A growl tore from her lips before she turned away.

Good riddance.I meant to pivot and turn my attention back to the batting cage. But for some reason, my eyes wanted to follow her hips in those short shorts.

And those long, tanned legs.There's no harm in looking, right?She moved across the outfield, and I enjoyed watching her go. She pivoted at the foul line and headed toward home plate.

You have no room for anyotherdistractions. Just ignore her. Permanently.I grumbled under my breath. But the memory of her in her see-through shirt wasn’t easy to forget. Why did she have to be a reporter?

“You're up, Coop!”

I adjusted my cup.Only halfway . . .Yeah ok, they meant “up to bat”. I huffed out a breath and hustled to the gate.

It'd been a shitty practice. I’d hit like leftover garbage. A nagging pain in my hamstring kept pulling my concentration out of the zone. A fitting endcap to a fairly shitty day. And I still had the cowboy old folks' home to add to my fun list. But before I even made it to the locker room, Eberhardt had tapped me on the shoulder and asked me to chat. Didn’t seem like a good sign.

Which meant I was in less of a mood to deal with a reporter. But guess who was waiting outside the coaches' office when I arrived? Yeah. My rotten fuckin luck.

She leaned against the wall, shorts hiked to her hip on one side. Those legs, which had a recurring role in my dreams—wrapped around my waist—ended in a pair of tennis shoes. No ties, no socks. Her bag slung over her shoulder, one hand tucked in her pocket. If I didn't hate her so much, I'd definitely want to strip her naked and improve my mental health against that wall.

I took a deep breath. Hate was a strong word. Disapproved of. Distrusted. Left me discontent. Wanted distance from.

“Waiting on Schorr,” she said—like I had asked or something?

I shoved my hands in my pockets. “You’re working for him, now?”

“I want to help out the team.”

“That’s not the job of a reporter.”

“And since you’re the expert—” She pointed at me. “Oh wait, that’s right, my job is to cause havoc and mayhem and generally excel at being a lying snake in the grass.” She rolled her eyes. “You’re such a child.”

“I wish.” I leaned back against the wall on the other side of the door and stared at the ceiling. “Nothing better than being a kid playing baseball.” There really was nothing like it.

Her features softened and she smiled at me. And in an instant, she was back to being that girl in the water fountain. My mouth went dry.

“I remember my brother played on some fields that weren't much more than dirt and clay. No grass anywhere. Didn't even have lights, so if you didn't get enough runs by the sixth inning, too bad. I'll never forget seeing them play. How filthy they were, grinning from ear to ear. Especially when they won.”

“Yeah, we played a game one time that didn't have a back fence, just ended in rows of cornfield. My uniform had a giant green stain on the front the rest of the season.”

She giggled. “It was well-loved.”

I rolled my eyes. “Drove my mom nuts. She bleached it so many times it fell apart by the end of the season.”

She covered her mouth as she laughed. But my gut twisted with the memory of my mom scrubbing at that stain and throwing up her hands in disgust.