Safe With You (7 page)

I smile at the sentiment. Most guys would probably rattle off some sports star or model, but there’s something genuine about Kyle. It’s not a ploy; it’s who he is. As our order is dropped off, I pull a beignet off the plate. I moan as the warm, sugar-coated goodness melts in my mouth.

“Good?” Kyle takes a sip of coffee and nearly has the same reaction.

I nod. “Very. So what do your parents do?”

Kyle shifts, huffing a laugh. “My dad’s a partner at a law firm. My mom works for Saks in Visual Merchandising and also runs my grandmother’s flower shop.”

“Oh,” I choke out, shaking my head. “Wow, impressive.”

“Yours?” Kyle jolts, leaning forward. “I mean your mom. I’m sorry. You told me about your dad. This is why I hate small talk, and yet I can’t get away from it.”

“It’s okay, really. She left when I was little. I haven’t seen her since I was five. I barely remember her.” I shove another beignet in my mouth in the most unattractive way. Powdered sugar is probably coating half my face, but at least I haven’t cried or run away yet.

Yay, me!

Chapter Six

Junior

Kyle

It feels like someone is taking a rusted, serrated knife and dragging it up and down my hamstring before twisting it into the back of my knee. I should have stuck with traditional physical therapy, but once again I was thinking with my dick, and I’m now a few weeks deep into yoga.

“Stop thinking so much, Avery,” Olivia whispers with a smile as she walks past my mat. “Concentrate on your form.”

I know your form very well. Especially in those shorts.

I roll my eyes and transition from facing-up cat to soldier, or whatever it’s called. I really tried to pay attention to the moves in my first few classes because this shit is confusing as hell. I would rather pay attention to Olivia, though, and be slow on the uptake. I push my lunge a little farther than I should, and a different stabbing pain radiates through my shin, knee, and hamstring.

Fuck.

“You okay, man?” Zach leans over. “Your face is turning purple.”

“Nope. Not at all.” I shake my head, every part of my body burns as the pain intensifies.

“It’s okay.

Class is over in a minute. Lay down in
savasana
,” Aubrey whispers.

“What?” I sit and rub my hamstring.

“Play dead. Corpse pose.” Olivia nudges my shoulder as she walks past again. “Everyone cycle through one more downward-facing dog before walking your feet toward your hands. Modify as much as necessary.” Her voice takes on a completely different tone when she teaches. She sounds like an angel coaxing a terrified child. In any other situation, I’d find it patronizing, but I kind of dig it here.

I stare at the ceiling, making shapes out of the pin-holed tiles. If Cam saw me now, he’d probably kick my ass on principle. The throbbing waves in my knee don’t subside as Olivia cools down the class. I know the only thing in my future tonight is a painkiller, ice, and my Transformers-esque knee brace. When everyone starts leaving the classroom a few minutes later, my knee is the size of a grapefruit.

“Need some help?” Zach hovers over me as I attempt to stand, holding out his hand.

“Yeah man, thanks.” He pulls me up and I limp toward the door.

Helena looks up from the computer and pulls off her glasses. “What’d ya do?”

“Well, I’ve had my knee completely put back together, twice, and have three rods and about fifty screws holding my leg in place.” I lower myself into the chair and Olivia sits next to me.

“Kyle, you should have told me. I wouldn’t have done those sequences, or at the very least, given you serious modifications.” Her shoulders fall as her face turns red.

“Sugar, c’mon. I have just the thing for you.” Helena opens the door to a room behind the front desk. “I am the master of alleviating knee problems.”

After we say goodbye to Aubrey and Zach, I follow Helena into the back room. Olivia is right on my tail, her eyes flickering between my face and knee. Helena pulls a box from the small refrigerator and places it on the edge of a counter.

“Here, put this under your leg, in case it drips.” Helena hands me a towel.

“Mystery concoction?” I pat the other side of the table and Olivia sits. Her eyes glaze over and I hope she doesn’t feel guilty like she did this to me.

“Yes, seaweed with some anti-inflammatory oils.” Helena soaks a giant roll of the plant in a metal bowl.

Olivia doesn’t say anything as Helena wraps the leaves around my knee and sets the timer for twenty minutes. When she leaves, I turn to face Olivia and her eyes are swimming with tears.

“Hey, stop. I’m okay.” I wipe under her eye as a tear escapes. “Why are you crying?”

“I feel so bad. I should have taken it easy. You’re still new and it was obvious that you were hurt at one point.” She shakes her head, the tears still threatening. “I should have known with your scars. I didn’t ask the questions I should have.”

“I’ll be fine.” Before I can catch myself, I wrap my arm around her small shoulders and tug her into my side. My chin rests on the crown of her head. I love how she fits against me. The overwhelming scent of pineapple nearly makes me drool. Something else fills the air, sweet like cake, and I wonder if she tastes as good. After a few seconds, she shakes her head and pulls away.

“My old studio was so small and no one took it seriously like Helena does. Especially when it came to rehab. I know you’re athletic, but I shouldn’t have assumed. You know, considering your scars look like more than just a pulled ligament.” She sighs, wiping under her eyes. “I’m sorry, and I know I need to stop saying that, but I am.”

I know it’s another dick move to try and use her vulnerability to gain some insight, but, Jesus Christ, I hate walking on glass every time we talk. Even when we had coffee, the topic of her life was totally off the table after my stellar idea to tell her I hate small talk. It was a major turn on to listen to her talk about baseball for an hour, but I still want to know her. Talking about music, food, and sports shouldn’t be our entire friendship.

“It’s my own fault. I wasn’t truthful when I was filling out that damn paperwork. I have no one to blame but myself for not letting you know the extent of it. Why do you think you did something?” I shift as the gelatinous goop on my knee hardens; it feels better already. “I’m not mad at you or anything.”

She rolls her eyes and stands. “I’m just used to being blamed, I guess. Little sister syndrome.” Her eyes don’t meet mine when she says this, but the moment they do, I know she’s lying.

There’s something about Olivia that reminds me so much of Cam when we were little. When he moved to the States from Brazil, no one in my class wanted anything to do with him. He was
different
because he didn’t talk like we did and he always had weird things to eat at lunch. Not to mention, he was two feet taller than all of us on a good day.

But like with Olivia, I had some weird connection to him. So I blew all my chances of being the most popular eight-year-old and told him I thought Leonardo was the best Ninja Turtle, even if I was scared shitless he’d pummel my face in. We became best friends instantly, and by the time we graduated, he was more popular than I was.

My grandmother always said I was some kind of tribal healer in a former life because I always latch on to people to help them. Olivia is no different, and she is a thousand times better to look at than Cam’s usually busted mug and his nasty cauliflower ears. The weirdest part of all of this is I think she can help me more than anyone. I’m going to take every chance I can to prove myself right, even if I have no idea how.

***

The dilapidated field at the edge of campus barely constitutes a diamond, but it will have to do. Weeds have overtaken most of the infield, but at least there are four bases and it’s not flooded from the bayou that runs beyond the fence. Olivia rests her arms on her knees as she stares into oblivion from the bleachers. Her face is emotionless as a thousand scenarios float through my mind at what she could be the thinking about.

I asked her if she needed a ride, but she said she was out running errands. I’m not sure if she’s trying to keep her distance and figure things out. I beep the horn and nod to her with a smile. She takes a deep breath before jogging up the path to meet me.

“Have you been waiting long?” I ask, opening my trunk.

“No, only about ten minutes. I just got off the phone with my brother, Tyler.” A small sigh escapes her lips. Even though I still know virtually nothing about her, I’m smarter than to ask her to divulge more. “Damn, it’s like Sports Authority back here. Could you have any more gear?”

“I come prepared.” I flip my vintage Mariners hat backward and dig through the bags, looking for a pair of batting gloves. The dust on my gear has settled into the carpet, turning the charcoal-gray upholstery into a muted orange. I know I should have gotten it cleaned eons ago, but I avoided my trunk like the plague. I tug on the strap of my bat bag and it snaps, falling to the trunk bed, and my glove and a pack of Bazooka spills out.

“I haven’t had this since I was a kid!” Olivia snatches it before I can stop her. “Do you mind?” She looks at me with a big smile before taking a piece out.

“That’s been sitting back here for over two years. It’s probably fossilized by now.” I wrinkle my nose at the thought.

“Whatever. Bazooka gum is the Twinkies of the candy world. It never expires or goes bad. I might pull out a tooth, but it’ll still be good.” She takes out a piece, careful not to rip the comic strip underneath. “I used to collect these.”

“Me too.” I climb into the trunk bed and reach into the backseat, yanking the bag of fluorescent yellow softballs I picked up on the way here. Olivia takes the sack from me and throws it over her shoulder like she’s Santa Claus.

I have no idea what to expect or how I’m going to do. My whole life, I’ve always hindered my natural ability in pick-up games because I didn’t want to be that asshole showing off. School was one thing; those were the games that mattered. But this, I don’t want to blast it out of the park without giving them a chance. Nevermind them asking me a million questions about why I’m so good.

“I’m pitching because I want to see one of your supposed monster hits in person.” She adjusts the bag with a small hop.

I laugh, gripping my bat. “Who told you that?”

“I had coffee with Aubrey and Zach this morning. He told me you used to play.”

She jogs back to the field, picking up her glove on the way. She chucks the mesh bag against the metal fence and rolls a few balls out to the mound. I catch myself staring as she flips her hair over and pulls it into a high bun on the top of her head. She looks like a reject ballerina with hair sticking out every which way. Her large sunglasses fall onto the field and I can’t stop my jaw from dropping as she bends over to pick them up. I’ve seen her do some crazy shit in yoga class, but having it cross over into daily life is even hotter.

“Well, Junior?” she yells from the pitcher’s mound, breaking me from my teenage-level indecent thoughts. “You coming?”

“How’d you know I loved Griffey?” I walk out to the mound, getting a handle on the moment I’ve been waiting almost two years for.

She takes off her sunglasses and her green eyes change to hazel in the sunlight before pointing to my hat and then down to my shirt. “Really? Ken Griffey Junior was the Derek Jeter of his time. Everyone obsessed their fanatic hearts over him.”

“Okay, okay. I don’t think you’re ready for this, Miss Simon.” I nudge her shoulder before I retreat to home plate. My mind races with old memories and doubts of whether I’ll get through a whole game.

“Kyle Avery slams his second, three-run homer of the night in the bottom of the ninth, Clutching the Texas state title for the Eagles! This young man has a bright future ahead of him!”

I scratch my left foot in the dirt four times, then my right foot twice. Grabbing the bat with both hands, I stretch my arms behind my neck. I drop my left arm and swing the bat in a circle with my right wrist a few times.

“Christ, A-Rod. Are you done with your pre-bat routine? You forgot to adjust your gloves and tap your helmet twice,” Olivia yells at me.

“Smart-ass.” I smile and roll my eyes, taking my stance and point to deep right field. “Let’s go.”

“You’re a righty … there is no way you can hit deep right.” She stands up straight and leans on her hip.

“Bullshit! Dinner,
on me
, says I can switch hit and bomb to left, too.” I point the bat toward her and raise an eyebrow.

“You know what? Deal.” She pulls the strings on the glove and punches her fist into the mitt twice before picking up the ball and wiggling her fingers.

I really hope I don’t suck.

“You’re killin’ me, Simon.” I lower the bat and look at the imaginary watch on my wrist. “I don’t have all day.”

She sticks her tongue out at me and pitches a floater. It comes toward me in slow motion with a million arrows begging me to launch it into next year. My mind switches off and instinct takes over. Before I can think, my left heel rises off the sandy dirt and I raise the bat back farther. I crush the ball so hard I almost expect the casing to fly off. The sound of contact reverberates and explodes like a strike of lightning splitting a tree. Olivia’s head arcs with the ball and follows it as it lands about ten feet beyond the right field fence.

“Nice throw!” The swing takes my breath away completely. I almost need to use the bat as a cane for support. A familiar smile flows across my face and the rush comes back as if it never left … the rush of playing and knowing this is what my life was meant for. The hole in my heart starts to close and the missing piece reappears as quickly as it went.

“Kyle!” She runs over to me with the same amount of wide-eyed astonishment I think is all over my face. “That was incredible! Your stance, your follow-through, everything was perfect. For someone who hasn’t played in a
few years
, you’re pretty awesome.” She sighs and the most beautiful smile stretches across her face.