Page 25 of Stolen Bases

She cackles again. “Fuck, this is great,cugina. So what? You kissed the enemy, big deal. Nico doesn’t have to know.”

“That’s why I’m in trouble. He … he sort of caught us.”

This time, she laughs so hard she drops the phone. I hope her screen cracked.

“Sof, pull yourself together and help me, you biotch.”

“Sorry. Okay.” She takes an audible breath, her laughter finally dying out. “What do you need me to help with?”

I regale her with all the sordid details from the other night: finally confessing about Kyle, which she vows to get revenge against, the kiss, Nico flipping out, and the internet research. All of it.

“Hate to break it to you, Lia, but you got yourself into a pickle. Get it? A pickle?”

I roll my eyes at her lame baseball pun. “Yes, I got it. Har-har. You don’t need to explain your jokes. You’re supposed to help me, not state the obvious.”

“Can I ask you something before I advise you, my sweet cousin?”

“Sure.”

“When was the last time you did something for yourself, without worrying about what your mom or brother would think?”

Never. She knows this. It was my self-appointed job to be the easy child in the family—follow the rules, go to school, graduate, and get a good solid nursing job. “Umm.”

She answers for me. “The answer is never, Lia. You always worry about everyone else, trying to be perfect so you don’t make waves or draw attention to yourself. And that’s cool. I’m proud of you.You’ve gotten straight A’s for as long as I can remember. But you need to have fun too. Life is too short to never take chances or do anything for yourself.”

I hear what she’s saying. While she has valid points, none of this helps with my current situation. “Sofia, you’re not telling me to treat myself and splurge on an expensive purse. You’re telling me to betray my brother and do—”

“Cameron. I’m telling you to do Cameron. I’m not saying marry the hottest pitcher of all time. I’m telling you to bang him. Do something just for you. No one has to find out about it. A forbidden fuck is fun, not to mention this little arrangement will come with all kinds of orgasms. I bet he has a big dick. Damn, I gave myself chills just thinking about it.”

I hide the chuckle bubbling up. Leave it to Sofia to make me laugh during a crisis.

“I’m not going to … do that.” I can’t bring myself to say “fuck” and “Cameron” in the same sentence. “It would be betraying Nico.”

She sighs. “Listen, I love Nic like a brother, but he can be a real dick. Just because he paid for our schooling and stuff, it does not make him our keeper. Go with your gut. If you want to give this guy a chance on the sly, I don’t see the harm in it. Oh. Shit. I have to hang up, or I’m going to be late.”

We say our goodbye, and I sit in my room for another hour, mulling over her words. As much as she’s right—I can do whatever and whomever I want—I don’t think my brother would forgive me.

My nerves are fraught with anxiety, and my stomach is in knots when the car pulls up to the house. Cam’s car sits in the driveway, but the lack of lights on in the house leads me to believe he’s out.

Nico took me out to dinner, but when he saw some old friends out, I decided to leave him behind. He didn’t want me to go home, but I did a hell of a good job convincing him I was too tired to hang out after my very long spa day.

For reasons I do not want to dissect, disappointment hits me and makes the stupid organ in my chest twinge.

Locking myself in my room, I put on my bikini and lie in bed, mindlessly scrolling through Netflix until the front door clicks. My ears prick, and my hair stands on end.

Please don’t be Nico.

Footsteps pad across the hardwood and then disappear to what I assume is the other side of the house. Five minutes of heavy silence pass before I hear the telltale sign of the sliding glass door being opened and closed.

My heart rate speeds up, beating against my rib cage like a snare drum.

Fuck it.

It’s like Sofia said—I’m allowed to do something for myself. Not that I am going to throw myself at Cameron; he probably has enough women vying for his attention, but I do like talking to him. Some friendly conversation with him is harmless.

At least, that’s what I tell myself as I grab my towel and throw it over my forearm. I don’t know where this bravery is coming from, but I’m going with it.

A sense of foreboding falls over me as I walk through the inky-black house. I half expect Nico to jump out of the shadows. As I approach the kitchen, a soft glow illuminates my path to the patio, drawing me nearer like a moth to a flame.

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