Page 68 of The Strike Zone

Her eyes never left mine as she took a long, slow sip.

I was almost disappointed that a tiny foam mustache wasn’t left behind on her top lip, because it meant I couldn’t wipe it off. But I’d settle for the coffee-drinking standoff we were having, waiting to see who’d crack first, though I knew it wouldn’t be me.

I’d stay here all day if it meant I got to stare at her; count the smattering of tiny freckles across her forehead, which had developed in the week I’d been gone, or study the way the blue of her iris darkened the closer it got to the edge.

I’d stare at her all day and never get bored.

Unfortunately all good things must come to an end. Our end was brought on by someone shoving a phone in my face.

“Excuse me, are you Parker King? Can I get a photo?”

I turned to my left, to find a shortish girl wearing a pair of cutoffs, and a shirt with my name on it. Exactly like the cup.

Glancing over to Scout, I couldn’t tell if she’d noticed the number, but the two frown lines had made a reappearance, and for some reason, seeing them again almost made me as happy as I’d felt when I’d spotted her walking over to me.

“I like your shirt.” I grinned to the girl, wider when it was clear Scout was doing her very best to look unbothered by our interruption, but I’d spent enough time with her to know when she was annoyed.

The tiny vein in her temple protruded that little bit further and her lips rolled in on themselves right before she sucked in her cheek.

Oh man, was she annoyed.

Any second and she’d start studying her fingernails.

“Thanks,” the girl replied, peering up at me through thick, clumpy black lashes, “you’re my favorite. All our favorites.” She pointed over to a group of girls standing by the hoardings. “But I got to come and ask for a photo. And maybe a signature.” The eyelashes batted hard as the girl pulled a Sharpie from her pocket.

“Of course. Hey, Davison, you see this shirt, with my number. Cool, huh. Matches your cup.”

“I see it.”

The curtness of her reply only had my grin widening while I scrawled my name across this girl’s back.

“You wanna get in this picture with that matching cup of yours?”

Scout shook her head. “No, I think you can handle this on your own.”

“Okay.” I shrugged, taking the girl’s phone, ready to snap some selfies.

Given how disinterested Scout seemed to be, it was unsurprising this girl had incorrectly figured there was nothing going on between us, and wrapped her arms around my waist.

It didn’t occur to her that Scout would care she was pawing her boyfriend. Or that Iwasher boyfriend.

An exasperated huff had my eyes flicking back to Scout, and the vein was now really popping. I could be mistaken, but I know I wasn’t.

Scout Davison wasjealous.

My heart made a little happy skip.

Halle-fuckin-lujah.

“Okay, that’s enough,” I announced after ten seconds of this girl’s fingers digging into my side.

“Good luck tonight,” she replied, staring up at me.

“Thank you. Hope you’re coming with that shirt on.”

“Yeah, of course.” Her teeth sunk into her lip as she answered. “Actually, there’s a bunch of us going to Rocket Bar after the game if you want to come and join us.”

“Thanks for the invite, but I don’t party during the season.”

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