“WHAT ABOUT HER? SHE’S HOT.”
I scowl at Rafael. He’s peering over my shoulder at my phone, the nosy bastard. I didn’t ask for his opinion, but sure, the girl in the profile is attractive. She clearly knows she can make guys stop and stare with her smile.
She also happens to be a brunette.
I swipe left.
“Dude,” he says. “You’ve swiped left at least ten times now.”
A couple feet away, stretched out in the dugout like it’s a comfortable old couch, Hunter raises an eyebrow. He takes off his McKee baseball cap, wiping the sweat from his brow. Even though it’s early May, New York’s summer humidity has set in. Practice wound down a few minutes ago, but we’ve lingered to chat about tomorrow’s series opener against Bryant University and make plans for later. It’s a home game, set for the evening, so we’ll be able to go out tonight, have a few beers at Red’s while watching the Mets game, and still handle our pregame routines with ease.
Hunter’s game day preparations are meticulous, doused in superstition. I’ve never cared for that sort of thing—I’d just as likely hit a home run wearing black underwear as I would wearing blue—but I’ll never tell him so. Anything to get us hitting again, an issue that’s been plaguing us all season. Unless we win a hell of a lot more in the next few weeks, we’ll miss out on the playoffs. Our record won’t affect my draft capital much, but I need to find a way to bring up my batting average before the official stats go in.
I glance at the next profile. She’s blonde. Nice tits. A smile that tilts to one side, a little impish. I swipe right. No surprise, we match.
“Now we’re talking,” Raf says. He knocks his shoulder against mine. “I’m betting she messages you in three, two…”
The notification pops up. He grins. “So predictable.”
I ignore him as I reply to her. Her name is Regina. She’s vaguely familiar, but I don’t have to wonder about it for long, because she’s all too eager to tell me that we sat at the same table in ethics this past semester. She’s free in an hour. Staying in one of the dorms for the summer semester.
Too easy.
“Only you would turn avoidance into a way to pick up even more girls than usual,” Hunter says. There’s a careful note in his voice—a joke before he hits me with something real—and worry on his smooth, light brown face.
I stand. I’m not in the mood. Not to hear about how I’ve been letting Mia di Angelo stay in my head, rent-free, going on a month and a half now. I’ve gotten enough of it from Cooper. Hunter has a girlfriend, after all; he’s been doing long-distance with his high school sweetheart for as long as I’ve known him. Rafael’s solemn advice was more palatable. He sat me down, wrangled the story from me, and said, with surprising seriousness, “You just need to fuck your way through it.”
I wonder who gave Mia that same advice. Certainly not Penny.
Enjoy watching me leave, Callahan.
The only way to make her voice fade, at least for a little while, is to find someone else to distract myself with. It’s that or mope. I really don’t have a leg to stand on when it comes to Mia’s own hookups, because I’ve been trying to find company of my own with all my free time… as long as she’s not a brunette.
“He’s on a journey,” Raf says.
“To fuck every bleach-blonde on McKee’s campus?” Hunter counters.
“Well, no,” Raf admits. “He should be fucking brunettes too.”
I sling my gear bag over my shoulder. “Noted.”
“There are other Italian chicks in the world. Less crazy ones, too.”
I stop with my foot on the dugout step. “She’s not crazy.”
“She’s something,” Hunter mutters.
“Don’t,” I snap. “Don’t call her crazy just because she broke up with me. Don’t call anyone crazy, it’s fucking rude.”
Rafael and Hunter exchange a look. Raf’s thick eyebrows get lost in his equally thick hair. “Can you break up with someone if you’re not dating? If you, in fact, refuse to label it, then finally say yes to a date when you’re asked for the second time, and then flee and fucking ghost him?”
Heat colors my cheeks. Put that way, my pursuit of her sounds pathetic. “Stop it.”
“I’m just asking the question.”
“Stop,” I say again, a sharper edge to my voice. My heart pounds with the need to defend her, even with the way things went down. I didn’t tell my brother everything, but I had to tell someone, and I chose my two best friends outside my family. I regretted it the moment the words left my mouth, especially because I could tell Raf was working on overtime not to say something massively fucking unkind about Mia. Like now. Tact is a foreign concept to him. I never should have mentioned the two hours I waited at Vesuvio’s just in case she’d show. “Don’t talk about her.”
He looks almost sad. “She did a number on you, man. You need to deal with it.”
“She’s here for the summer, right?” Hunter says. His voice is careful again, as if he’s worried I’m about to blow my lid. “You’re going to run into her. You need to find a way to move on.”
“I’m fine. I am.” I take my baseball cap off my head and shove it into my bag, running my hand through my sweaty hair. All I need is a shower, a change of clothes, and a mid-afternoon fuck with Regina from ethics class, and I’ll be good to go. Mia is here for the summer, working on her mentor’s research project, but I’m sure she’ll ignore me if we run into each other at Starbucks or Stop & Shop. I’ll catch sight of that gorgeous dark hair and tiny shards of memories will bombard me. The late-night texting. The one time I managed to cook for her—just breakfast but something—and she teased that it was better than an orgasm. The glances we shared when no one was looking, not Cooper or Penny or any of our other friends.
Maybe Rafael is right. I need to fuck a brunette. “I’ll see you guys at Red’s later.”
“I’ll get us a booth,” Hunter says. “Julio, Levine, and Big Miggy are coming too. Maybe Hops and Ozzy.”
“So, half the team,” I say dryly. “We’ll need two booths.”
“This is the nice time of year,” Raf says. “Red’s is quiet.”
“Not that we’re not fans of your brother’s hockey crew,” Hunter says with a grin.
That grin is a peace offering. The okay to disappear for the afternoon. I nod, then jog across the diamond to the locker room.
BY THE TIME I reach the tiny corner of campus where this dorm is situated, I’m sweaty again; the drive wasn’t long enough for the A/C to kick in. Regina meets me at the door, looking just like my vague memory from ethics class—the lemon blonde hair, the tilted smile—wearing an orange sundress that clings to her body enticingly.
“Sorry that there’s no air conditioning in this building,” she says, grabbing my hand and dragging me to the stairs.
Her room is on the third floor. The building, which must be mostly empty, echoes with our footsteps. She’s wearing flip-flops, the soles smacking against the worn wooden floor, which is wet for some reason. Mia doesn’t strike me as a flip-flops kind of girl. I’ll bet she wears sandals if it’s too hot for close-toed shoes. I do know that she paints her toenails a uniform black.
I give myself a mental shake. Now is definitely not the time to be thinking about Mia di Angelo’s toenails. Not when Regina-whatever-her-last-name-is is making bedroom eyes at me. Her eyes are brown, and pretty I guess, but a much lighter shade than Mia’s. Mia’s remind me of freshly tilled earth. Beautiful in the most natural way.
Before Regina even opens the door to her room, she plays with her dress straps, letting them slip down her toned arms.
“I went to your game the other day,” she says, her smile turning sly as she drags her nails down my chest. “Do you have a bruise from that catch?”
I lean in, almost brushing her lips but not quite. “Yes.”
“Want me to kiss it better?” She turns her head, her minty breath washing over my ear before she takes the lobe into her mouth. Heat sparks through me at the teasing, the temptation, even if it’s with the wrong girl. Her hands find the hem of my shirt, tugging on it, until I get the hint and pull it over my head. “That’s not the only part of you I want to kiss, Sebastian.”
This is easy—so easy. No thinking required beyond deciding whether I want to let her suck my cock, or if I want to fuck her properly. I made sure I had a condom in my pocket before I got out of the car. I hitch her leg around my waist, groaning as she kisses me. I can’t help turning it into a comparison, again. Her kiss is too wet. Her breasts feel nice pressed against me, but are nothing compared to the perkiness of Mia’s. She smells wrong, too, citrus instead of jasmine.
She gets the door open, and as soon as we’re inside, sinks to her knees, her eyes bright as she flicks her gaze upward. She reaches for my waistband with her long pink nails.
I stare at her, frozen. “Sweetheart—”
Someone screams.
The sound pierces the air, sending me scrambling. I nearly knock Regina over in my haste to get to the door. She calls after me, but I ignore it, thundering down the stairs two at a time. My heart is in my throat, beating in time with my breath.
I know that scream. Delighted in that scream. But this isn’t a sound of pleasure. This is panic.
And it belongs to Mia.
