Page 9 of Just for the Plot

I spent last night after the game—that we lost—cleaning up my place, making sure there wasn’t a speck of dirt on a baseboard or floor. I vacuumed my couch several times, lint-rollered it, and then sprayed some of that nice-smelling shit on it. I spent too much goddamn time arranginga candle on my coffee table, moving it left, right, and center until I gave up and replaced it with a book about baseball facts. I considered taking down my framed jerseys I have from my high school team and minor league teams, but it felt wrong. So I kept them up, but I did clean them, just in case.

And now that she’s going to be here any second, I’m nervous, excited, fucking bursting at the seams to see her.

It’s been a while, a few months, since I’m in the middle of my season. I think the last time I saw her was over the holidays when I was visiting Gabby and her husband, Ryland, in Almond Bay. Wait, I know that’s the last time I saw her, because she was telling Gabby all about a guy she was dating and how he had some sort of foot fetish and was constantly giving her toe rings to wear.

Hoping that since she’s moving, that guy is out of the picture now.

Because with him out of the picture, I’m sure with my track record, I’ll just stare at her from afar, never make a move, and then watch her go off with someone else.

I drag my hand over my face.

Christ.

Here I am, pretending like I’m actually going to do something about her being here, but as time ticks by, closer and closer to her arrival, I feel myself grow more and more nervous.

Because, yeah, she might be moving here, but does that mean I’m actually going to do something about it?

I tug on the brim of my hat…

I should.

I really should do something about it.

I’ve wanted this for so fucking long, and now that there’s a chance, a small chance at that—she is eight years older than me, my sister’s best friend, and calls me fucking Benny Boo Boo—there still could be an opportunity for me to flip the way she looks at me.

I take a deep breath, thinking about the other women I’ve been with, how they haven’t interested me in the slightest. How they’re just my attempt to fill a void, a void that I know only Bower can fill.

But can I really do this?

Can I make a move?

I tug on my bottom lip just as there’s a knock at the door.

My stomach bottoms out and my palms break into a sweat.

Fuck, keep it together.

Nerves buzzing through me, I open the door and my heart nearly leaps out of my chest as Bower comes into view, looking so fucking beautiful that it takes everything in me not to cup her cheek, bend down, and kiss her.

“Bennett!” she shouts as she drops her bags and walks right into my chest, wrapping her arms around me.

Fucking fulfilled.

I sink into her hold, my arms encircling her, my chin resting on the top of her head as I breathe in her sweet scent of coconut. As I memorize everything about this moment, like I have with every other hug we’ve shared, her hands travel up my back as she tightens her hold on me.

I revel in it.

In the feel of her wrapped around me.

In her softness.

In her fucking presence.

“Hey,” I say softly, my hand cupping the back of her head for a moment before she pulls away and looks up at me, her hands gripping my forearms.

“Oh my God, you’re so…muscular.”

I feel my cheeks heat from the compliment.