Page 58 of Left on Base

“Tell me about it.” I eye my pile of clothes, wondering if any are clean. My practice uniform still smells like dirt and sweat. “She’s the girl with all the rocks in her dorm, right?”

“Yeah. She’s probably in there right now casting a spell on him.”

I smile. Probably true.

Callie stands and yanks me into a hug. “I missed you.”

I laugh. “I missed you, too.”

It feels weird hugging her after being with Jaxon. She’s so much smaller than him. His arms had wrapped around me twice over.

She pulls back and twirls my blonde curls around her finger. “Sooo... how was Texas?”

“Good.” I sit again, trying to ignore how the evidence of my afternoon activities is making sitting extremely uncomfortable. “My rise was working, but my change-up was shit. Gonna throw some tomorrow, see if I can fix it. Need to get that downward break back instead of this side-to-side garbage.”

“Oh no.” She pats my shoulder and grins. “You’ll get it, babes. You always do. Remember last season when your screwball wouldn’t do that thing you wanted it to?”

Callie knows barely anything about softball or baseball, but we love her anyway. “Yeah, I do.”

And then her eyes drop to Jaxon’s hoodie. Her eyes widen. “That’s where you went. To see him.”

Well, fuck. Guess I gave myself away. I reach for my phone, desperate to change the subject. “Wanna go to the baseball game?”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I got tickets.”

Her eyes brighten. “Sure!”

At least she’s easily distracted. Unlike my brain, which keeps replaying Jaxon’s fingers on my spine, his breath hitching when I?—

No. Focus. Baseball game first. Feelings later.

If only it were that simple.

As soon aswe’re at the field, Callie’s already hit up the concession stand and is eating, while I’m busy freaking out over the view of Jaxon and Jameson warming up in the bullpen. I get the tiniest glimpse of him, but it’s enough to keep my attention way longer than I’ll admit.

Feet up on the railing, I’m surrounded by a sea of purple and gold in plastic seats, everyone hovering over hot dogs and nachos.

My Husky baseball hat’s low to block out the sunset. There’s warmth in the air that wasn’t here last week. Days are getting longer, sun’s warmer, and I feel completely at home in this stadium. Smells like a summer night before the lights burst on and bathe the field in that magic glow. Popcorn, hot dogs, and the crushed remains of peanuts and sunflower seeds underfoot.

The announcer’s rambling about the lineup and Jameson’s stats. Callie’s not paying attention—she’s too busy with her food.

My mind drifts. Suddenly I’m back behind the equipment shed, senior year, where Jaxon pulled me aside after practice. He’d grabbed my hand as I walked past, dragging me into the shadows where the sun couldn’t reach. My heart hammering like I’d just sprinted the bases, and the way he looked at me—sunburnt cheeks and those piercing blue eyes.

The memory’s so fresh I can feel the rough wood against my back, taste the mint of his gum. My lips tingle; I catch myself touching them, remembering his hand cupping my face, his baseball hat knocking against my forehead until he laughed and spun it around backward. The shed smelled like leather, dirt, fresh-cut grass, the metallic tang of bats, and the rubbery funk of new balls.

I remember him lifting me onto the riding lawnmower—taking my shirt off, the effort to keep quiet knowing what we were doing would get us both in trouble—but we were seventeen, and nothing else mattered. His fingers were calloused from gripping bats all season, rough but gentle. When he leaned in, I caught his soap—clean, boy-smell, sweat, and something woodsy I could never name. The first brush of his lips was hesitant, testing, like he thought I’d pull away. But I grabbed his jersey, pulled him closer, and everything changed. The kiss deepened, tasted like spearmint gum and blue Gatorade, and suddenly the shed didn’t smell like leather and dirt anymore. It smelled like him, like us, like a moment I never wanted to end.

The crowd cheers for something—I have no clue what—and I snap back, cheeks burning. Even as I try to focus on the field, all I can think about is how Jaxon looked at me in the hallway right before he kissed me, like I was the only person in the world. Like everything else—baseball, school, the universe—was just background noise.

I pull my hat lower, grateful for the shield, hoping no one notices my grin. The lights flicker on, one by one, that magicmoment when the field shifts from day to night. One kiss, and everything changes.

Now look at me. Not dating him, still fucking him, and wearing his hoodie to his game.

“Is this the first game you’ve seen this season?” Callie asks, rummaging through her bag for her phone. She drops her Sour Patch Kids and I watch as a few escape under the seat. RIP, little sour friends.

“Yeah.” I nod, eyes glued to the bullpen where Jaxon’s warming up Jameson. His movements are so damn fluid, the same routine I’ve watched a thousand times. “I haven’t seen him play since last year.”

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