Chapter Ten

Tristan

Holy. Shit. Alyssa was kissing him. Like actually kissing him.

For a second, he was so shocked, he just stood there like a dumbass. Then his brain caught up, and he wound his arms around her and kissed her back. This was the wildest thing that had happened to him in weeks…and he’d helped Kyle fend off a pack of football players over spring break.

Alyssa was warm and soft in his arms. She smelled good, too, like spring flowers and cotton and a little bit of glove oil. Best of all, her hair was perfect for running his fingers through, even still in its ponytail. He’d been right about that, and he really loved putting the theory to the test.

He could’ve gone on kissing her, with the sun warm on his back and the scent of grass in the air, but she stepped away from him, smiling shyly…with a hint of devilry peeking through.

She picked up one of the softballs he’d missed and walked back to the pitcher’s mound. His brain was a tangled mess of electricity, and he grabbed his bat out of pure habit more than any real purpose. Before he could even get set, she threw a gorgeous curveball right at him.

He swung, relying on muscle memory, instinct, and a little bit of prayer to the baseball gods. And he crushed that ball. It sailed way out into the field…a definite home run.

Alyssa clapped her hands, laughing. Her eyes were alight. “I knew it! Take your mind off the stress of playoffs, and you can still hit. You’re getting in your own way.”

A little bit of disappointment curled in his chest. “So you kissed me to see if you could get me to hit?”

She walked back to him and patted him on the chest. “Not entirely.”

Some of his confidence returned. “So part of you wanted to? To kiss me, I mean.”

Her cheeks flushed pink. “Am I weird for kissing you out of the blue like that? Lord. I am, aren’t I?”

“Not weird…surprising. Unpredictable.” He put a finger under her chin and tilted it up. “Sassy as hell.”

She laughed. “I have been accused of sass before.”

“I believe it.” He couldn’t keep his eyes off her mouth. She had these full lips meant for kissing, and he was ready to give it another go, but maybe he should actually ask her out first. Not be the douchebag who made out with a girl but never took her anywhere. “I should repay you for the help. Can I buy you Starbucks when you’re off work?”

Alyssa smiled up at him. She wasn’t short, maybe five-six, but he’d hit six-one over the summer, so most girls looked tiny. He didn’t mind it—she was exactly the right size as far as he was concerned.

She rose on her toes again and pecked him on the cheek. “I’d love that.”

Alyssa went after the ball that had gone the farthest. When she found it, she held it up and called, “How far, do you think? About three fifty?”

Three hundred and fifty feet? Tristan turned to look back toward the batter’s box. She was right—it was a home run for any high school stadium. That kiss had worked some kind of alchemy on his swing. He smiled as he picked up the other balls. Maybe he should convince Alyssa to come to the playoff games and kiss him right before he went to bat. Picturing the look on Coach’s face at that request made him laugh. He could almost hear him say, “Murrell, have you lost your mind?”

Yeah, maybe he had. He glanced up at Alyssa. She was bent over, picking a few wildflowers out of the grass. This girl was herself, and nothing else. That made her pretty much a unicorn, as most of the girls he’d known were too worried about what people thought about them. She stood, a softball in one hand, and a bunch of daisies in the other. When she noticed him looking, she shrugged. “My mom likes them.”

Nodding, he trotted into the field. The little white flowers were everywhere, and soon he had a bunch twice the size Alyssa had held up. He took the softball from her and handed her the daisies. “Thanks for helping me out today.”

“Thanks for the flowers.” She nudged him with her hip, and he swore waves of heat radiated from the spot. “I’m off at four but have a few things to do at home. Want to meet up at six?”

He smiled, getting an idea. Once they exchanged numbers, he said, “Meet me at the ball fields at school. Text me what kind of coffee you want, and I’ll bring it.”

She looked a little skeptical but smiled. “See you then.”

“Definitely.”

Alyssa drove up to the stadium right at six. Tristan was waiting for her, standing beside his car with two cups. She’d asked for an iced coffee, black, which wasn’t what he’d expected, but he bought it as ordered. Then again, she didn’t strike him as a double-mocha latte girl, either.

When she climbed out of her car, his heart skipped. She’d changed into a little skirt and a plain pink T-shirt that went great with her skin. Her hair was loose, curling around her shoulders. Proof that Alyssa could glam it up as easily as she could hit a baseball.

Tristan liked it.

“Here.” He held out her coffee. “I wanted to show you something.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Should I go back for my pepper spray?”

He laughed. “No.” He popped the trunk for a blanket, realizing too late she might not believe him. “No matter how this looks.”

“Yeah, sure. Random guy asks me out to a deserted field, tempts me with coffee, and asks me to go somewhere while he’s carrying a blanket. There’s nothing suspicious here.” She grinned at him, totally teasing. “Where are we going?”

“Follow me.” He led her to a gate near the third baseline. Everyone on the team knew the latch could be jimmied if they wanted to go inside after hours. He wriggled it open, and the gate swung wide. “Head for center field. That’s my turf.”

“I wondered.” She strode across the field, looking as at home here as she did at Swing Away. “I knew you weren’t a pitcher.”

He caught up with her and spread the blanket out on the grass. “How’d you know?”

She sat on the blanket and patted the place beside her. He sat, and she took his free hand, his throwing hand, and pointed at his fingers. “Wrong kind of calluses. You throw the ball less frequently.”

Whoa. “You really know your stuff.”

She shrugged. “We see a lot of players. My dad played in the minors for a while before he met my mom. He didn’t make the show, so he dropped out, but he taught me a lot, you know?”

Tristan wished he could say yes. His dad wouldn’t have even noticed the calluses, let alone been able to figure out he was a fielder from them. “Still.”

She winked. “That and I might’ve looked at the team roster on the website earlier.”

He laughed. “You got me.”

“I really did know about the pitching thing, though.” She held up her hands. “Plus, you have a scab on your knee. You dove for something recently, didn’t you?”

“I’m going to call you Sherlock if you aren’t careful.” He looked down, realizing she hadn’t let go of his hand. “What about you? It’s obvious you love the game. What made you leave it for ballet?”

She took a drink of her coffee before answering. “I love it more. I can’t explain it, really. But ballet opens something up inside of me, makes me feel beautiful and strong. Plus, I love moving to music. The grace of it.”

She paused, and in the failing light, Tristan noticed her cheeks had gone pink. “I think you’d be beautiful no matter what you did.”

She gave him a shy smile. “Are we back to needing the pepper spray? Because that was one hell of a line.”

“No, I mean it. You have confidence, and I like that in a girl.” He set his coffee down and reached out to brush her hair out of her face. “But, do you always threaten interested guys with pepper spray?”

“No.” She toyed with the straw sticking out of her coffee cup. “Just the ones who will put up with a little teasing.”

“Oh, good. I was worried there for a second.” They sat, quiet, for a moment. The wind had kicked up a little, rattling the chain-link fence around the outfield. “You seem close to your dad.”

“I’m close to both my parents.” Alyssa scooted to lie down on the blanket, staring up at the sky. “Weird, but true. You?”

“Um…” That was a hard question to answer, especially with a pretty girl stretched out on a blanket next to him. “They’re okay. They’re both super smart.”

“Smart’s good.” She turned to look at him. “You should see these clouds.”

The invitation was plain, and Tristan didn’t waste time lying down next to her. The sun had sunk low enough to hide behind the press box, allowing a good view of the sky without Tristan having to shield his eyes. Huge, puffy clouds floated overhead, a few already tinged orange-pink with a hint of sunset. He pointed at one cluster. “That looks like a Mickey Mouse head.”

“It does.” She scooted closer, so their arms were touching, and it was all Tristan could feel. Her arm against his. “It’s pretty out here.”

“Yeah. I love it.”

“You asked me why I love ballet.” Her fingers found his. “Why do you love baseball?”

Tristan drew a deep breath, focused more on the swooping in his stomach than the question. “Uh, the smell. Grass, dirt, leather. I have this vivid memory of the first time I played in a Little League game, how my new glove smelled. How the pants fit, what it was like to wear a baseball cap for the reason they’re made for. I liked how it felt to swing and connect, and the thrill of catching a ball to save a play. Some guys would say the best part is winning. Others would say the athletic part. It’s more how it makes me feel.”

“That’s why the swing issues are bugging you so much,” Alyssa said. “It’s personal, kind of.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true.”

“What else do you do for fun?” she asked. “It can’t be baseball all the time.”

He smiled a little, deciding against the answer that had jumped into his head. “I like to water-ski out on the lake. We have a ski boat, even though all my parents do is ride around in it.”

“I’ve never been on a boat.”

She didn’t sound wistful, but he wondered if he sounded like a well-off snob for having a boat at all. “I’d be happy to take you out sometime.”

“I’d like that.” She laughed a little. “But the only repayment I can offer is to introduce you to my dog.”

“I like dogs.” He turned his head to look at her. All he could see was her profile, but it was enough. “Alyssa?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you mind if I kissed you?”