Pitching to Win (Over the Fence #1)

C
opyright
© 2015 by Carrie Aarons

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

T
o my Sir
, thank you for always believing in me.

Y
ou know
when people say they would never,
ever
want to go back to high school? That its the most vicious, awkward period of life? Those whiners have nothing on me.

I shouldn’t have come here.
The sliver of doubt rings out clear-as-day in my mind as I make my way through the throngs of people cluttering the backyard.

I can practically read the thoughts of my drunken classmates, who throw a mixture of judgmental and pity-filled looks my way. “Why did Minka Braxton subject herself to these parties? She’s so desperate.”

Maybe they were right. Was I so desperate to erase the memories of my past in this house that I’d submit to the temporary frozen state my body assumed when I entered it?

No I wasn’t desperate. I just simply didn’t care what people thought about me anymore. Years of ridicule will do that to your average teenage girl.

The entire school, not to mention town, had come out for this beginning-of-summer boozefest. Reaching the far-most corner of the backyard, I sit down at the deep end of Jason Hinkley’s pool, slipping off my leather sandals, letting my bare legs dangle in the water. I take a drag from my bottle of wheat beer, and let the musky smell of humid June air, cheap beer and marijuana fill my nostrils.

Jason is one of the richest kids in Mitchum, hence the all-out ragers he throws while his parents travel to summer homes and ski lodges, and that's saying something. Mitchum, North Carolina is the picturesque upper-middle-class suburb. With its tree-lined main street and Ivy League-producing high school, this was every couple’s dream from the moment that doctor put a bouncing baby in their arms. Almost every kid I went to high school with got a smart phone for their 10th birthday, and a new car on their 16th.

It’s not like I didn’t have friends; Chloe and Kelsey were the ones who had insisted on coming here tonight. But I’d always been labeled the fool, the naive girl they snickered at when my back was turned. And most times when it wasn’t.

Forget the preference for books over drugs, or my affinity for movie nights rather than sneaking out; my more humble activities of choice had always ruled me out of the inner circle. But that fateful night two-and-a-half years ago, in an upstairs bedroom of this mansion, had solidified my ostrazation.

Looking across the can-filled yard, I spot my best friends gyrating their bodies to the hip-hop song booming out of the speakers. The noise spills onto the makeshift dance-floor, otherwise known as the patio. They cling happily to each other, sloshing their drinks and making flirty-eyes at the guys standing around them.

If only I felt free enough to do that anymore.

I was surprised as the thought crossed my mind. No, I didn’t yearn to be as boy-crazy as Chloe or as daring as Kelsey, it just wasn’t in my nature. But sometimes, I thought it would be fun to come out of my tightly-bound skin. I simply couldn’t afford the consequences, though.

I eye them, semi-jealous of Kelsey’s auburn colored hair that seemed to cascade around her slim body, jangling in time with the dozens of bangles she wore on her wrists. Kels was a total free spirit, as demonstrated by the teal streaks now peppering her long locks, a hippie chick who was all about peace and love.

Chloe was the sweet, graceful one, with her lithe ballerina body, which she was. A ballerina that is. Her tan Italian skin was the only thing that contrasted the normal ballerina stereo-type she fit, but if anything it made her even prettier. As if she needed it. Chlo was taller than both of us, with straight jet black hair and a smile that made anyone within its path instantly warm to her. I wouldn’t even be surprised if she’d told me she’d landed a deal with some high-level modeling agent.

As if feeling my eyes on them, Chlo and Kels started to scream and motion for me to come “get my groove on.” I laugh, shaking my head, waving my hand passively to let them know I was having a good time people-watching. They relent after a couple more pleas and go back to shaking it.

While they pushed me, I knew they loved and understood me. Of course they loved me, they had stood by me at the toughest point of my life.

Glancing down at the orange-lit pool, I slice my scarlet-painted toes back and forth through the water, enjoying the natural buzz coming on after finishing my second beer.

“What’s the matter, dancing isn’t really your thing?”

H
e tilts a smile my way
, and I swear I can hear the thud from my heart flopping over in my chest.

Standing before me is a guy so devastatingly handsome, its becoming increasingly harder to breathe. It feels like my brain is short circuiting as I drink him in. He towers above me at six foot three, and that wasn’t a guess because I’d studied this particular human at length.

Would it be weird if I sank below the water’s edge to cool the burn flooding my cheeks? Okay yeah, he might think I was certifiable.

I work my way up, cataloguing as my eyes feast on the khaki shorts standing against muscular thighs, falling at his knee where tanned calves end in perfectly pristine white high-tops. His navy blue t-shirt stretches across his broad chest where powerful arms are crossed, arms that I’d watched set the school pull-up record.

God, I could stare at his arms for days. They weren’t steroids big, I never found that level of muscle attractive, but they were built enough that the chorded ropes flexed as he adjusted them in front of his body, and my heart did another little swoon.

Glancing up into his face, I had to make sure not to let out the gasp now stuck in my throat. It was tan and chiseled; a strong jawbone and harsh cheek lines dotted by dark five’ o clock shadow. I’d never thought facial hair was sexy, but his scruff made me want to change my entire stance. No Shave November, sign me up, I’m a fan.

While the face was purely masculine, his eyes were all boyish; startlingly blue, the color of sapphires and sparking with something mischievous. His brownish blonde hair peeked out from under his baseball cap that sat backwards atop his head.

I’d definitely been staring at him for more than a few minutes, because he was staring at me like I was either slow, or really obviously checking him out. Option two, please.

“Uhhh...um, parties aren’t really my thing.” Smooth, Minka.

He sits down next to me, not close enough to touch but close enough that I can feel the heat radiate off him. His eyes roam over my face, and I can feel my cheeks heat under his stare. His lips turn up at the corner, and his baby blues level me.

I feel stuck to the pavement, and the music becomes muted as I focus on the chills working their way up my spine despite the summer heat. He tips his head back and takes a long chug from his bottle of beer, and I watch his throat bob as he swallows. And suddenly I want to be the rim, touching his full lips. This guy makes taking a sip look sexual. A bead of the foamy brew clings to his bottom lip, and I have the strongest urge to lean forward and swipe it away with my tongue.

“Ah I see, you just come to sit by the pool and get drunk alone. Is that your thing?” He smirks.

The ticker on my bullshit meter notches up a few pegs. Mistrust simmers in my gut, after all, my instinct is well-honed after years of snide comments and jabs thrown my way. I didn’t need summer to start by being the victim of my peers’ latest prank.

Someone had probably taunted this hot specimen to go tease the loser, knock her down a few levels more. They had to have caught on that, in the last year, I’d steeled myself to the torment. I’d simply stopped caring so much, and had made a promise that senior year would be different.

Disappointment sits heavy in my stomach, for a split second I had actually hoped he was into me. But I know where hope got me.

“Typically I crack open a bottle of Jack by myself, but I thought tonight it might be fun to feel other people’s sweat dripping down my arms on the dance floor or watch drugged out teenagers awkwardly paw at each other in public.” Sarcasm is my greatest weapon, and I use it liberally.

He barks out a laugh.

“Well then, I promise not to awkwardly paw at you. I’d like to think my skills are better than that. I was only trying to see if I might join you. You see, other people’s bodily secretions aren't my thing either,” he winks, “I’m Owen by the way.”

Of course, I already knew that...although he’d just proved he definitely didn’t remember me. Owen Axel, Mitchum’s golden boy, former all-state pitcher and all-around stud. He’s athletic, handsome, talented, smart and two years older than me.

He is on a full-ride to Grover University and headed for the majors, or so everyone said. Everyone knows Owen and everyone likes him, and any girl at this party would drop their panties for him in an instant. Any girl except for me.

Ok so maybe it wouldn’t be an instant, but a few minutes, if I was heavily persuaded by alcohol.

“I know who you are. Aren’t your boys looking for you right about now? Isn’t a funnel calling your name?”

Owen and his crew always turn up at these things in the summer. School is out and the boys come back to town, ready to relive their glory days for the three months they could. They came back, hooked up with the same popular girls who tormented my everyday school existence, and generally all basked in their entitled awesomeness.

I can make out his aquamarine orbs flashing in amusement as the sun slowly descends behind him. My heart beats in a wild thrum just having his eyes on me, and I can feel my hands start to sweat. Damn it if I wasn’t furious at my body betraying me. I can’t let him get even one point to use against me if he was going to report back to his cronies.

“Alright snarky. While I love a beautiful girl with a sharp tongue, it might be better if she wasn’t a stranger.” Owen smiles, ignoring my question. He rubs a big calloused hand over his jaw, and I have to fight the urge to reach out and trace that line too. So apparently my body has decided to ignore the “We won’t cater to the popular people anymore,” memo.

Wait, did he just call me beautiful? My neck joins my hands in the sweatfest, and I’m sure he can hear the pulse beating rapidly at my neck while he just stares expectantly at me, a lock of golden hair flopping out of his hat and landing on a chiseled cheekbone.

Why am I getting so worked up? I’ve been prey to this kind of pursuit before, in this backyard in fact, and I had sworn never to fall victim to it again.

“Minka. Although we shared an entire semester of physical education your senior year, so I’d say we are most definitely not strangers.” I shrug as I glance towards the direction of the dance floor. Chloe and Kels curiously stare at me, not so subtly throwing thumbs-up.

He looks confused and taken aback by my confession, but only momentarily. He recovers, bringing back that mega-watt smile, almost making me forget why I avoided guys like him at all costs.

And then he opens his mouth.“Nah, I wouldn’t forget a pretty face like yours, Minka.”

I roll my eyes and move to get up, the bullshit meter now basically full with all I can handle. All I’d wanted was a quiet night, no drama, and maybe a beer or four. “Ok, Casanova, I get that this totally works for you, and by now your chosen sorority sister’s thong would be in pieces on the floor, but believe me when I tell you, it’s really not going to happen.”

I move hastily towards the house, ready as anything to down another beer and soothe the butterflies in my belly. It’s not like I wanted Owen Axel, but he is just so attractive. Not even my hardened exterior can resist blushing after receiving the full force of his lazy grin.

As I hit the patio and slither between bodies to the back door, my head turns, seemingly on its own, as if it can feel his pull. Looking at the spot I had just fled, Owen stands there, his now almost indigo-eyes pinning me in the crowd. I can see the molten heat flowing out of them, directed specifically at me. A faint smile ghosts his lips. He is so breathtaking that its as if the spot I was standing on had just been engulfed in flames.

I was definitely going to need another beer.