Page 168 of Left on Base

I cry out, my body aching for more as Jaxon’s eyes find mine—his gaze full of want and dominance. He watches me with rapt attention as I fall apart beneath him, lost in the connection and the pleasure running through me.

He thrusts inside me, once, twice, and then groans through his release, his mouth pressed to mine.

After, we lie tangled in the sheets, his arm around my waist, our breathing falling in sync. He presses a kiss to my forehead, thumb tracing lazy circles on my hip. For a few quiet minutes, the ache in my chest is gone, and all I feel is the warmth of his skin and his steady heartbeat under my cheek.

I wish I could stay here forever, in this soft, suspended moment where nothing else matters. But I know better. Morning always comes.

When I finally sit up, reaching for my clothes, Jaxon doesn’t try to stop me. He watches, eyes heavy with everything we can’t say, the silence we let linger. I pause at the door, Mookie racing around with zoomies, rain still thrumming outside, and lookback at him—his hair mussed, sheets twisted, the faintest smile ghosting his lips. I try to memorize him like this, just in case.

I pull on my damp hoodie and stand by the door, skin still tingling from his touch. Jaxon sits on the edge of the bed, watching me like he’s memorizing the shape I leave in his room.

“Damn,” I whisper, glancing back at him. I stare at his chest and the hard lines of his shoulders. I can’t lift my eyes. He’s beautiful and broken and right now, so am I.

He catches me staring. “What?” he says, voice soft.

I shake my head, the ache in my chest twisting. “I really want to crawl back in that bed with you.” My throat goes tight. “But I know I shouldn’t.”

He stands, closing the distance, and for a second, it’s like we’re in one of those movies—boy chases girl into the rain, confesses everything, the world melting away. But this is real, and I know nothing can come of it. As good as that kiss feels, as right as his arms feel around me, I can’t step up to the plate with him. Not now. Even if Olivia Rodrigo would totally approve of my drama.

I want him. God, I want him. But I have to prove to myself that I don’t need him—that happiness isn’t something I borrow from Jaxon, or anyone else.

Which is rich, coming from the girl who just had sex with her ex because she missed him. Olivia would probably write a power ballad and call it “Bad Decisions, Track Nine.”

He hesitates. “Camdyn… I just… I want?—”

I cut him off, voice barely steady. “We can’t right now, Jaxon. You need to focus on you and what you want.” If I let him finish, we’ll slide right back into the inning we left unfinished, and we can’t—not when the game has to start over, not when I can see these feelings are coming from regret and loneliness, from a boy aching over a loss too fresh to name.

I won’t let that be the reason we get back together. I can’t.

So I leave. I grab my phone, shove it into my pocket, and slip out into the hallway.

He doesn’t stop me.

It’s quieter out here. The door thuds shut behind me—like the world just snapped back into focus. My sneakers squeak against the shitty dorm carpet as I walk, fluorescent lights humming overhead. I force myself not to look back. The elevator takes forever, so I take the stairs, heart pounding with every step. Down three flights, past the smell of burnt popcorn and cheap cologne, out into the lobby where some guy in pajamas is arguing with a vending machine. I push through the doors, out into the rain.

Cold hits me right away—sharp, relentless. The quad is nearly empty, just puddles and the steady drum of water on concrete. I keep my head down, hands jammed in my pockets, trying not to think about how my skin still buzzes from Jaxon’s touch. Rain soaks through my hoodie in seconds, and I tell myself I’m fine, this is fine, I made the right call.

I’ve barely made it halfway across the quad when I hear footsteps behind me—fast, desperate, reckless.

“Cam!” he calls.

I stop, heart skidding, and turn.

There he is—Jaxon, running after me, rain plastering his shirt to his chest, eyes wild with hope and something that looks too much like love. He grabs my wrist, spins me around, and for a second, I can’t breathe. “I…” He swallows, breathing heavy, shakes his head like he doesn’t know what to say. Then he kisses me—hard, messy, rain spilling down our faces. For that one second, the world is nothing but water and his hands and the taste of goodbye.

When we break apart, breathless, I rest my forehead to his. The rain comes down harder, soaking us through, blurring the lines of everything except this: I have to go.

It’s like I’m standing in the batter’s box—those chalk lines dug into the mud around my feet, daring me to step over. Every muscle in me wants to ignore the rules, to reach for him, swing for something reckless and wild. But I know what happens if I don’t stay inside the box, if I let myself cross that line just because the moment feels good.

So I force myself to step back, feet heavy, heart heavier. “I have to go,” I whisper, and this time I do—leaving him in the middle of the quad, rain pouring down, both of us refusing to truly let go but knowing, for now, we need to.

Maybe we’ll get another at-bat. Maybe not. But right now, I have to respect the batter’s box, no matter how much I want to step outside of it and run back to him.

I cross the quad, rain slipping down my face, my chest tight and hollow. My phone vibrates in my pocket. I want to ignore it, let the ache just burn itself out, but I can’t. I pull it out, expecting a spam text or maybe Callie checking in.

It’s Jaxon.

His message is simple, just a handful of words that somehow manage to unravel me all over again.

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