Page 10 of Left on Base

When I walk into Human Anatomy in Kane Hall, Jameson is right behind me. “Dang.” He frowns at his soaked socks, water dripping from his UW Baseball hat. “A raindrop got through my Croc holes.”

I glance down at his white Crocs. “Maybe wear normal shoes and that won’t happen.”

“Neverrrr,” he says, sitting next to me.

Jameson Gomez is a pitcher from Alabama who got a full ride to UW because his ninety-nine-mile-per-hour fastball is untouchable. He wears Crocs, a cowboy hat, and makes anyone laugh with his randomness. He’s also hot as fuck. I have no idea why Callie won’t date him—other than she can’t even commit to a Chick-fil-A sauce. There’s only three. How can you not remember?

Jameson has bright green eyes, unusually tan skin for Washington, dark brown hair that lightens in summer, and a southern charm when he wants. I thought about dating him to make Jaxon jealous, but that’s not me. And Jameson is Jaxon’s best friend. That would be like Jaxon dating Callie. Revenge dating never ends well.

“You know.” Jameson bumps my shoulder as he sits, the wet ends of his hair poking out from under his hat. He’s not wearing his cowboy hat today—just his black Huskies baseball one, the same one Jaxon wears almost every day. My chest tightens. “When I signed up”—he glances at his book—“for Survey of Human Anatomy, I figured I’d be looking at titties all class.”

“Bro.” I laugh and sip my coffee, grateful for the distraction. “I’m just glad we moved on from the digestive system.”

“Oh, for real.” He shudders and pulls off his sweatshirt, leaving a gray T-shirt with water spots. “I was seriously thinking about going vegan.”

“I couldn’t do it. I like meat.”

He grins and sticks his pen in his mouth suggestively. “Yeah ya do. Jaxon’s meat.”

I roll my eyes, but the comment hits different now. “Shut up.” Because yeah, I did like Jaxon’s... everything. But now someone else probably does too.

Jameson’s quiet for a few minutes. Most people think he’s shy when they meet him. He’s not. He just hates quiet moments and is totally random.

“What’s going on with you and Jaxon?”

See what I mean? He asks a lot of questions for a guy. “It’s complicated.” That doesn’t even begin to cover the mess of feelings inside me.

“It’s been complicated for a while.” He adjusts his hat and stares at me. “Explain.”

“I don’t know how to. You’re his roommate. You should know this already.” I hate explaining what’s going on with Jaxon. I don’t even get it myself, and to everyone else, it looks like he’s using me. Which... maybe he is. Maybe I’m letting him. “But he’s talking to Inez DeLuca.”

Jameson whips his head around, green eyes sharp. “Who the fuck is that?”

My heart flutters. Maybe Jaxon is keeping it quiet. Or he doesn’t like her enough to tell anyone? I know that’s probably not true, but denial is all I’ve got sometimes. “The girl always writing articles about everything at this school. She wrote that piece about the baseball team last week.”

His brow scrunches. “What’s she look like?”

“Black hair, kinda wavy but she curls it, thick black glasses. She wears jeans with paint splatters almost every day, and Converse.” I hate that I can describe her perfectly. Hate that I’ve memorized her look, her clothes, how she takes her coffee at Starbucks (oat milk latte, extra shot).

“Uh, be specific.” He leans closer. “It’s Seattle. You’re describing half the girls here.”

“Always has a notebook and tea. I’m pretty sure she’s interviewed you.”

“Still not narrowing it down.” He gestures to a row of girls in the lecture hall with Starbucks and notebooks. “All girlshere have a drink. Unless she had some big ass titties while interviewing me, I’m not gonna remember her.”

He’s serious. “I don’t know then.” My shoulders slump. I’m describing her and I don’t want to be. I’m annoyed she even exists in my world.

“All right, so he’stalkingto her?” Jameson draws in a breath. “Doesn’t mean they’re serious.”

“True.” I nod, and though I don’t want to start hounding Jaxon’s friends, curiosity gets the better of me. “He hasn’t said anything to you about her?”

“No.” He muffles a laugh as the professor eyes him.

“Jameson?” the professor calls out. “Are you going to take this class seriously?”

Jameson nods. “I think so?”

We both try not to laugh as the professor turns away. Jameson leans in. “First I’m hearing about him talking to anyone but you.”

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