Page 8 of Just for the Plot

Bower:I was actually looking at a unit in your apartment building. Would that be weird?

Fuck no. Is she kidding?

That’s the best fucking news I’ve heard since I was called up to the majors.

If she’s in the same apartment building, we could…hell, we could have dinner together, we could bring each other sugar…she can slowly start to realize that I’ve had a mad crush on her for so fucking long that maybe, just maybe she’d give me a chance.

Bennett:Not weird at all. Might be helpful. I could show you around, introduce you to people.

Bower:People, huh? And who would these people be, Bennett?

Bennett:You know, the people who make the coffee around the corner, the building’s security guys, and the one neighbor on floor twelve who has the same meal delivered to them every night.

Bower:Ooo, busybodies, you know I like the gossip. Count me in. I’m headed into the city tomorrow with all my things, and I’m going to check out the apartment. Can I crash on your couch for a night?

My mouth goes dry and I can’t type fast enough. Thank FUCK wearein town right now, because if we had away games, I might have cried.

The words of a desperate man.

Bennett:Absolutely. Stay as long as you want.

Bower:You’re the absolute best. Thanks, Benny Boo Boo.

“Do you have a boner right now?” Nolan asks as he gingerly pats his face with a napkin.

“No,” I answer, even though, hell, my excitement of seeing her tomorrow might possibly get me into boner territory.

“Looks like you have a boner.”

I glance down at my lap, only for Nolan to let out a wallop of a laugh.

“Made you look,” he says like a dick.

Irritated, I slap his burrito out of his hand, causing it to fall into his lap.

Fire builds in his eyes as he looks up at me. “You motherfucker.” I stand from the recliner as he yells, “You better run!”

I take off toward the weight room to get in some reps before he can catch up.

The woman who owns my heart will finally be in my neighborhood… About fucking time I get to make that move.

CHAPTER 2

BENNETT

This fucking piece of hair.

It keeps sticking up in a weird way, and no matter what I do, it won’t submit to me.

I pat it down, once, twice…thrice!

And nothing.

So I turn off my bathroom light and go to my closet, where I pick out a Bombers cap and place it on my head. Whatever, I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard, and all she’s really known me to wear is a hat, so this would be normal.

Now, the few spritzes of cologne that smells like fresh laundry, that’s new, as well as the T-shirt I’m wearing that is loose around my waist but tight around my biceps. Biceps that I’ve worked so fucking hard to build.

She met me when I was sixteen, scrawny, awkward, and unsure of my body, but I’m not that boney boy anymore. I’m twenty-four now, a major league baseball player with enough muscle on my body to do damage. I also grew into my frame, topping off at six foot three. I know I’m going to tower over her, so much so that her head will meet my chest as her arms wrap around my waist.