Page 22 of Up in Smoke

Savannah takes a drink and dabs the corner of her mouth with her middle finger. “Just practicing.”

Like any other night when we’re all in the same room, several different conversations begin. Gage and Heston strike up a debate over some sort of prairie dog problem behind the hay barn. Warren absentmindedly traces circles on Savannah’s back while she and Blythe flip through pictures on her phone.

I take a step back to lean a shoulder against the fireplace mantle and check the game score on my phone. There are several missed call notifications and a voicemail from a number that catches my eye. I look up at my friends, then back down at the screen. My thumb hovers just above the number for a good thirty seconds as I stare at the name, but I don’t press it down.

It’s been months since she’s contacted me with an update. Waiting to call back until morning won’t hurt.

After swiping to the game app, the box score shows we’re in extras, and I’ve already allowed myself to ignore the unexpected notifications that put an anxious weight in the pit of my stomach. With one click, I pull up the radio broadcast again.

I’m usually the last one to dip out for the night, but I’m tempted to go to my room where I can turn up the volume without bothering anyone to listen better. Plus, this suit has got to go.

The only thing keeping me glued to my spot is the fact that the game is tied. I’ll wait to see what happens in this inning and then I’ll go change. We have a runner on third, two outs, and our clean-up guy up to bat in the bottom of the fourteenth.

I down the rest of my beer while holding the phone speaker to my ear. On the next pitch, the crowd’s cheers erupt loud enough to hear over the radio. The commentators are going wild over a base-hit walk-off.

“Yes!” I shout, nearly dropping my empty bottle of beer.

My head snaps up when Mesa jumps from her seat and yells the exact same thing. Her face is lit up with joy as she beams at her phone. She’s gained an audience after the random outburst,and all eyes stay fixed on her, hoping she’ll offer an explanation for what caused her excitement. Including mine.

“Oops,” she says, quickly sitting back down and covering her mouth.

Confused, I quirk an eyebrow, wondering if she’s making fun of me or something.

Mesa lifts a shoulder and holds her phone up with a satisfied smile. “Sorry. Got too excited for a second.”

Blythe scrunches her nose. “What happened?”

“It’s nothing.” Mesa waves her off while taking a sip of her drink and crossing her legs. “Just caught the end of the game.”

I must look like a dumbass as I continue to stare at her. She pulls the sleeve of her cardigan down until it covers most of her hand, then bunches part of it into her fist.

“What game?” Heston asks.

Gage perks up as well, and we all go silent, waiting for her answer.

“Oh. It was Cougs at River Bluff. Do you follow JuCo ball?”

I look away instantly. My hand flexes around my phone so hard I think a vein might pop. A deep crease forms in the center of Warren’s forehead. When Gage makes eye contact with me, he lifts both eyebrows.

“Tripp does,” Heston offers.

She smiles with an adorable gasp. I nod when she turns in her seat to face me. This is just a weird coincidence, and part of me doesn’t even believe her. It’s another one of her jokes.

“Who’s your favorite player?” I test.

She huffs. “You didnotjustname five playersme.”

Shit.

I don’t look away as she stares a hole through me with narrowed eyes. I’m not sure why, but I have a feeling this will not be the last time Mesa calls me out on my bullshit. It doesn’tsting. It lights me up, my veins feel like they’re on fire, and I want her to do it again.

“Unintentionally,” I say with a shrug. “Humor me.”

“Rash is the easy choice, but Ladd is my favorite.”

“You don’t say.” I cross my arms, chew my gum, and pin her with a look that saysprove it.

Mesa picks up her phone and turns it toward me with smugly raised brows. The home screen wallpaper is a selfie. There’s a Cougar sticker on her left cheek. She’s standing on the dugout steps in between first-team All-American Corbin Ladd and color commentator Meg Riley, of all people.

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