Page 30 of Undeniably Perfect

I don’t know why that statement hurts my feelings. It’s not like I want more. I mean, shit, we are so different, how would that even work? Sure, Kent looks like a golden god carved from stone, but he’s a jock and I never date jocks. Hell, I’m not even interested in dating anyone at the moment.

I’m suddenly led out the front door and down the stairs by Lanie.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” she says. “Hey, KJ, you think Mr. Harris kept the lock number the same for lights?”

“Let’s hope so,” he replies as he swings a bag over his shoulder.

Mrs. Moore comes scurrying out of the house pulling on sneakers as do Di and Kylie. And then we are all walking down the tree-lined street. Lampposts light our way as we walk to the end of the street. The main road is even silent at this hour. We cross it and walk onto a field next to a school. I suddenly realize that they are going to play on the high school baseball field. A moment later, lights come on and Kylie is pulling bases out of a locked bin.

“How do you…” I trail off.

“Mr. Harris was my high school coach. I used to like to come practice at night and he gave me the codes so that I could turn on the lights and get the bases out. My siblings decided to tag along, and it sort of became a tradition. We still try to play out here at least a few times a year.”

“Mayberry,” I mutter under my breath. Kent laughs.

“Come on, kitten, you are up first,” he says to me as he hands me a helmet and a bat.

“Wait, what?”

He ushers me to a spot over a base.

“Show me your swing,” he says, stepping away from me.

Clark stands about twenty feet away from me with a ball in his hand.

“My swing?” I squeak. Kent nods.

“Yes, your swing. Swing the bat.”

I put the bat out and swing it. It’s surprisingly heavy.

Kent’s lips twitch with amusement. “Here, like this,” he says as he comes up behind me. He puts his front to my back and wraps his arms around me. It sounds ridiculous, but I suddenly feel very safe, like nothing could hurt me with this giant of a man wrapped around me. I try to focus on what Kent is saying but his cologne and his hard muscles make paying attention a Herculean task.

“Got it?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Nope.”

He chuckles and makes me do a few practice swings with his arms still around me. When he steps back, I miss his warmth.

“Stand like this,” he says, as he crouches and holds his arms up as though he has a bat.

I copy his stance.

“Now swing like we just practiced.”

I do.

“Good, that’s really good, Tabby. You’re a natural.”

“Really?”

“Yep. Now when Clark throws the ball, keep your eye on it. Don’t look away, alright?”

I nod and get ready.

A ball comes flying and I swing. I hear a crack and I look around.

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