this year was over by Foxy’s locker, legs a mile long in another one of those devilish skirts, flipping a long strand of dark hair over her shoulder as she resolutely didn’t look in his direction.
CHAPTER SEVEN
T he bar was definitely more his scene than Foxy’s, and so Jack ignored his best friend’s grimace as he gingerly slid into the booth. The already cracked vinyl screeched in protest as he settled into the seat opposite him.
“Not this dive again,” Noah said under his breath as he leaned forward, his forearms resting on the stained wood table top. “I don’t know why we couldn’t go somewhere decent.”
“Because I asked you and this is my neighborhood bar,” Jack ground out. “You know I’ve been coming here for years.”
“You’d think they would have figured out how to make money off that fact by now.” Noah paused, his face twisting at the brown walls, brown booths, brown floor. “So what’s up? Why’d you call me?”
“How would you describe my game so far this season?”
Noah frowned; it was an odd question. Jack had never asked for an ego boost before. He’d never needed one before.
“You know you’re playing great. Practically fucking inspired. That inside-park home run…man, that was something special .”
Noah was right. He was tearing it up, actually, batting north of four hundred and making plays in the field that had been mere pipe dreams in previous years. But it wasn’t just him. Everything kept falling his way, over and over again.
“Too special,” Jack argued. “It feels fucking unnatural. I don’t like it.”
Foxy leaned back and sipped his beer. “And?”
“And well, everyone keeps asking me what’s different. There’s only one thing that’s different, and I like that even less.”
It only took Foxy a moment to figure out where he was going. “Izzy. Izzy’s what’s different.”
“It’s worse than that, even. Izzy and I, we’ll talk about something, some part of the game, and suddenly it happens. Except usually better.”
Foxy shrugged. “None of this is a problem. You like a girl. Girl brings you luck. Because of luck, you play great baseball. How is that worse?”
“It’s all mixed up now. Yeah, I like Izzy. I liked her before all this. But how can I ever separate the two now?” Jack hated the desperate whine in his voice, but he couldn’t nix it. This whole situation had him so wound up, it was a miracle he wasn’t playing like crap.
Instead, he’d never had a better streak in his life. Batting, fielding, running the bases. It didn’t matter what aspect of his game one examined, Jack had turned to pure fucking gold.
“Who says you have to? Do I have to tell you again how great this actually is?” Foxy retorted in disbelief. “And after the game, why do you think she stayed to talk to me? She’s afraid to talk to you. She knows she’ll like it too much.”
“You’re imagining things. Maybe she just wants to talk to you, instead.”
“She likes you, I know she does. You’ve softened her up and she’s this close to giving in and going out with you. Are you going to blow that because you’re playing great baseball?”
Jack took a deep breath. “That does sound bad when you say it like that.”
“It sounds worse than bad. It sounds lame. It sounds like you traded your balls in for earrings. Get it together, man.” Noah shook his head in utter disbelief.
“You don’t think I should say anything to her, then.”
“If you tell her that it’s her, then it is her. Suddenly that’s all you or her can believe. On the other hand, you don’t tell her, and what happens? Nothing. You’ll go up, then you’ll go back down again, and neither of them had anything to do with Izzy Dalton. What I know for sure is you’re practically wringing out that glass like a dish rag. You’re hot, you’re frustrated, you want Izzy bad. You tell her, it’s just going to give her another reason not to sleep with you.”
Jack lifted
CHAPTER SEVEN
T he bar was definitely more his scene than Foxy’s, and so Jack ignored his best friend’s grimace as he gingerly slid into the booth. The already cracked vinyl screeched in protest as he settled into the seat opposite him.
“Not this dive again,” Noah said under his breath as he leaned forward, his forearms resting on the stained wood table top. “I don’t know why we couldn’t go somewhere decent.”
“Because I asked you and this is my neighborhood bar,” Jack ground out. “You know I’ve been coming here for years.”
“You’d think they would have figured out how to make money off that fact by now.” Noah paused, his face twisting at the brown walls, brown booths, brown floor. “So what’s up? Why’d you call me?”
“How would you describe my game so far this season?”
Noah frowned; it was an odd question. Jack had never asked for an ego boost before. He’d never needed one before.
“You know you’re playing great. Practically fucking inspired. That inside-park home run…man, that was something special .”
Noah was right. He was tearing it up, actually, batting north of four hundred and making plays in the field that had been mere pipe dreams in previous years. But it wasn’t just him. Everything kept falling his way, over and over again.
“Too special,” Jack argued. “It feels fucking unnatural. I don’t like it.”
Foxy leaned back and sipped his beer. “And?”
“And well, everyone keeps asking me what’s different. There’s only one thing that’s different, and I like that even less.”
It only took Foxy a moment to figure out where he was going. “Izzy. Izzy’s what’s different.”
“It’s worse than that, even. Izzy and I, we’ll talk about something, some part of the game, and suddenly it happens. Except usually better.”
Foxy shrugged. “None of this is a problem. You like a girl. Girl brings you luck. Because of luck, you play great baseball. How is that worse?”
“It’s all mixed up now. Yeah, I like Izzy. I liked her before all this. But how can I ever separate the two now?” Jack hated the desperate whine in his voice, but he couldn’t nix it. This whole situation had him so wound up, it was a miracle he wasn’t playing like crap.
Instead, he’d never had a better streak in his life. Batting, fielding, running the bases. It didn’t matter what aspect of his game one examined, Jack had turned to pure fucking gold.
“Who says you have to? Do I have to tell you again how great this actually is?” Foxy retorted in disbelief. “And after the game, why do you think she stayed to talk to me? She’s afraid to talk to you. She knows she’ll like it too much.”
“You’re imagining things. Maybe she just wants to talk to you, instead.”
“She likes you, I know she does. You’ve softened her up and she’s this close to giving in and going out with you. Are you going to blow that because you’re playing great baseball?”
Jack took a deep breath. “That does sound bad when you say it like that.”
“It sounds worse than bad. It sounds lame. It sounds like you traded your balls in for earrings. Get it together, man.” Noah shook his head in utter disbelief.
“You don’t think I should say anything to her, then.”
“If you tell her that it’s her, then it is her. Suddenly that’s all you or her can believe. On the other hand, you don’t tell her, and what happens? Nothing. You’ll go up, then you’ll go back down again, and neither of them had anything to do with Izzy Dalton. What I know for sure is you’re practically wringing out that glass like a dish rag. You’re hot, you’re frustrated, you want Izzy bad. You tell her, it’s just going to give her another reason not to sleep with you.”
Jack lifted
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