Pitching to Win (Over the Fence #1) (15 page)

"
W
ho the fuck
knew that when we first got invited to a college party, it would be through Minka. If you'd told me that a year ago, hell, three months ago, I'd have cracked up." Kels is examining her nails in the backseat.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, bitch." I direct Chlo to take a left at the light as we entered campus. Thank you, Google Maps.

"I didn't mean it like that. I just didn't think in a million years you would have a boyfriend...I didn't mean that like that either. I mean to say, boys are dicks. Who are only good for one thing. Dicks."

"You should really just close your mouth now." Chlo quips at her, pulling slowly through the winding campus drive, flanked with rows of beautiful tall trees on each side.

Grover University was
the
school to get into in Virginia. It was
the
school period for most Mitchum kids. Presidents, CEOs, celebrities and athletes had graced the hallowed halls and gone on to pursue and achieve impossible dreams. It was picturesque, everything you envisioned when you thought storybook college campus. The grass was emerald green, dotted with hundred year old trees and beautiful floral landscaping. The buildings looked more like colonial castles than places that housed classrooms.

The Greek Life was notorious, Chloe's dream, not mine, and the entire campus sat on a stunning, turquoise lake, complete with an outer two-mile-long-ring that students ran around. Not only did their theater and dance school feed right into some of the most prestigious dance companies in the world, but their five-year nursing program was unrivaled. Chloe and I had been dreaming about attending together for years. We planned to get together in the next few weeks and fill out our applications simultaneously, hoping it would give us double the luck.

"You both should really suck your drool back in before we hit the bleachers." Kels didn't plan to go to college, never had. After high school, she was headed for Zimbabwe. Or Tunisia. Or wherever her heart desired and there were animals in need. But it didn't mean I couldn't hear the jealous tone as she scolded Chloe and I.

I would feel the same way if they were headed into the future, together, without me.

"We love you, badass." I smack a kiss in her direction, and her megawatt smile returns.

Ever since Owen had heard his school was my top choice, he’d been nagging at me to come. It only took half a week for me to relent, agreeing to come see his first pre-season game and spend the night. I mostly came because I was obsessed with Grover. Or because it meant an adult-free night away with my hot-as-sin boyfriend. Either or.

Chloe pulls up outside the athletic complex, parks, and we make our way to the field. My stomach starts to do little somersaults. This was the first time I'd actually seen Owen play, had actually been invited. Sure, I had snuck to a couple of his high school games, admiring the various members of the team. Or cowering when Chloe and Kelsey catcalled them. But I'd never been there in official girlfriend capacity.

I'd never been anywhere in official girlfriend capacity, with anyone. This was new and exciting, and also a bit terrifying.

I just hoped they won. I didn’t know what Owen was like after a loss. And I didn’t want that to ruin our weekend.

Climbing the bleachers, I see that we are on the early side, and we pick a great spot right smack dab in the middle.

"Mmm, I can't wait to see Miles in those tight baseball pants, its been too long." Chlo is practically licking her chops. She is chomping at the bit to get him alone at the party tonight.

I'm chomping at the bit to get Owen alone. Finally out of Mitchum, on our own, in his college dorm room. Just thinking about it makes me tingle in the places only he knows how to ignite.

"Look at Minka's face. She is definitely thinking about someone else in those tight pants." Kels winks at me, and I feel a wicked burn start to flood my cheeks.

Ever since I'd confessed that we'd had sex at the beach, they were all over me for details. But I wasn't like them, I couldn't do that thing where I described my sex life in all its glorious and dirty detail. At least not yet. I didn't know if I ever could. Or if I'd want to. What happened between Owen and I in those intimate moments was sacrosanct. I didn't want to tell anyone about it for fear of tarnishing it.

"Shut up." I swat at her and fan my face as the first of the Grover players run out onto the field. For the next fifteen minutes, we watch them warm up, stretching this muscle or that, practicing throwing and catching with one and other. I couldn't see Owen anywhere, but then remembered he would be in the bullpen, warming up his throwing arm with the pitching coach.

The bleachers begin to fill with the sounds of flip-flops echoing on the metallic benches. About ten minutes before the game, I see Raquel and Carter take a seat with the rest of the parents in the section to the right of us. I don’t know if I should go down and say hello.

I watch as Raquel swivels her head, searching the crowd, and then locks eyes with me. She waves emphatically, giving me a thumbs up. I wave back, trying to mimic that I'd talk to her after the game.

"Who is that?" Chlo nods in Raquel's direction.

"Owen's mom." I shrug, feeling a burst of happiness inside. I was cool with my boyfriend's mom. This really wasn't my life.

"Are you kidding me? She looks like an exotic princess." They both kept staring at her, it was hard not to.

"Well, supermodel, but yes, she's insanely gorgeous."

My attention moved to the field when the announcer began rattling off the lineups, and the players ran out of their respective dugouts to stand on the base lines for the National Anthem. Of course Owen, the pitcher, was last. When he ran out, I felt my mouth go dry.

He looked drop dead gorgeous on a bad day. In uniform? I suddenly needed to go to the restroom and fan myself somewhere else.

He found me in the stands, flashing that devilish smile of his and taking off his hat so that his golden brown locks shimmer in the midday sun. Even though my hand is over my heart for The Star Spangled Banner, I can't keep my eyes off him. My boyfriend.

It only gets worse when he takes the mound and I can see the muscled globes of his ass in those tight white baseball pants. Chloe was right.

Someone starts a "Let's go Tigers!" chant as Owen starts to wave off the first pitches his catcher suggests. It dies down when he becomes stock still, winding up and hurling the ball in the direction of home plate.

"Strike!" The batter didn't even have time to swing before the thud of the ball against the leather glove rings out into the stadium.

Owen shuts them down with a 1-2-3 outing, and the team heads back into the dugout to suit up for batting.

Owen is deeper into the lineup, I learn from someone behind us, while Miles bats cleanup. That means he is fourth in line, the position reserved for the best hitter on the team.

As he steps to the plate, Chlo whistles loudly through her fingers. "Hit a homer #22!"

Kels and I stare at her, shaking our heads at her enthusiasm.

"What? He'll learn to love me." She smiles.

Miles swings at the first pitch, getting a bit of it but sending it soaring up behind him into foul territory. He shakes his head, an intense, almost scary look on his face. Owen has told me about how bad his moods have been lately, but I'm definitely seeing it firsthand here.

The other team's pitcher decides on a knuckle ball, even I know what that looks like, but chooses wrong. Miles swings, hitting the ball squarely in the middle, sending it flying high past the infield and out over the scoreboard on the back wall for a home run. He drives in his two teammates on base, and rounds slowly for home with a scowl on his face. So much for being happy go lucky Farris.

The game continues on at that pace for the next five or so innings. Owen continues to dominate, only letting a handful of hits but no runs slip past him. Miles racks his run count up to four, nearing his single game record of six. Kels makes not one, but two trips to the concession stand, once for hotdogs and the next for ice cream. My best friend, the queen of food, who gains absolutely no weight and never works out. I hate her.

Finally at the top of the seventh, Owen is taken out. He's done a mighty fine job, says someone else behind me, but the coach wants to rest his arm. No sense in over-using him before the season even starts.

The Tigers wrap the rest of the game up tidily, with Miles hitting three more home runs, topping his previous record. He should be smiling to the moon, but instead just nods at the praise he's getting from all sides and walks to his car, driving away quickly. Funny, I didn't see any of his family approach him.

I feel a set of big strong arms lift me up from behind, and I giggle, ecstatic that Owen is finally within arms length of me. Its pathetic, but I do feel better the instant he touches me. Even if I wasn't in a particularly bad mood to begin with.

"Put that pretty girl down, stop embarrassing her and come give your mother a kiss." Raquel says from somewhere over my shoulder. My feet are planted back down on the grass, and Owen wheels me around. I get a glimpse of his perfectly tanned face before he swipes my mouth in a quick kiss. Then, turning to his mother, he plants a chaste kiss on her cheek.

"Mom, you're making me look bad!" He pretends to whine. He shakes hands with his father, who tells him he pitched a great game. Owen looks uncomfortable, I think he still doesn't know what to do with this new-found praise.

I make the round of introductions between my friends and Owen's parents.

"You're Chloe Trabucco? I knew I recognized you! I saw you dance The Nutcracker at last year's Christmas pageant. Honey, you're spectacular!"

Blushing, Chloe answers. "Oh I did okay…”

"Excuse her, she doesn't realize that God literally put her on this earth to dance ballet." I smile in her direction, saving her from herself. Chloe is nothing if not modest. She was always way too hard on herself when it came to dance.

"Thanks for coming you guys, you didn't have to do that." Owen interrupts us, clearly trying to get his parents out of here so we can go back to his house.

"Ay, caro, we get it...Parents are uncool and you have a party to get to. We love you." His mom gives him a knowing smile, ruffling his hair a bit.

We hug, and both of his parents tell me how nice it was to see me. I feel included, and its a bit addicting.

"Ride with me, babe. Chloe can follow, right?"

"Sureeee, just no road head, love birds. I don't need to see that." Kels laughs as she skips to the car.

"Ew, you're so sick." I feel my face heat.

"Not that I wouldn't be up for it—“Owen trails off when I give him the stink eye.

I climb into his car, and don't even get my butt firmly planted in the seat when he yanks me towards him and sear my lips with a kiss. He doesn't let me up, and I don't want to go anywhere. His teeth nip at my lips, his tongue explores every crevice of my mouth.

"You don't know how fired up I was to know you were watching in the stands..." He smashes his lips down onto mine again, fire scorching through my veins and lighting me up. Owen reaches for the hem of my shirt, something I'm more than ready to let him do as we sit in the front seat of his car in broad daylight.

And then a horn starts to go off behind us.

Breaking the kiss, fighting for a normal breath, I turn around to see Chlo and Kels fake making out in their car.

"Assholes" I mutter, but make Owen button his seat belt and reverse out of the parking lot.

The drive over to his house, which he shares with Miles and two other baseball players, is short. Its located right off campus in a neighborhood that screams college party houses.

We pull into the gravel driveway, Chlo and Kels coming to a loud stop beside us. Pop music is blaring out of her BMW, causing the boys in the house to file out onto the raised front porch.

"What is that?" A gruff looking guy in nothing but a towel says, surveying us from above. Tattoos cover his pale, muscled flesh.

"Hey guys, this is Minka. And her friends." Kels and Chlo don't even bother saying anything after Owen does. They’re too mesmerized by the mirage of hot men standing on the porch above us.

Miles, still in his tight white baseball pants, jersey nowhere in sight, looks pissed. "Turn that fucking shit down. And who invited princess to stay here? Hope your beamer doesn't get too scratched up at the party tonight." With that, he marches back into the house, slamming the cheap looking front door behind him.

Chlo looks hurt, especially since its Miles who yelled at her. "Don't worry about him sweetheart. I like that pop shit just fine," The last guy on the porch looks more like a linebacker than a baseball player. He is huge, and not just in the height arena. The beard that covers his face would be, if I had to guess, his attempt to hide the fuller portion of his chin, and his belly pushes at the front of his shirt as he leans over the railing to take a good look at us.

"Come on up," Owen encourages us, scooping all three of our bags from Chlo's trunk with no struggle. My heart may have swooned a bit at that.

We walk into his house, and immediately wrinkle our noses.

"I know, I'm sorry about the smell. The house hasn't really been aired out all summer, and four boys live here so..."

I tune Owen out, something I usually never do, to take in the meager house. Not that its rundown, but it just looks exactly like he's said. Like four guys live here. The walls are white, with no adornments but the odd beer sign here or there, and a life size poster or two of what I'm guessing are their favorite baseball players. Dishes crowd the sink, and I don't want to know if they're only from this weekend, or have been there for months since school ended.

Liquor and beer cases line the counter, evidence of the party about to ensue. A large grey sectional accented by two wood end tables and a matching coffee table are the only furniture in the living room, besides a gigantic TV mounted to the opposite wall. A large dining room table sits in the open space between the kitchen and the living room, stacked high with papers and take-out menus.