Page 68 of Made for Mayhem

There was a double edge to it—like she was talking about more than responsibility, like maybe she saw the cracks I kept hidden from everyone else. She didn’t move away, and I didn’t want her to.

I managed a rough exhale, leaning back just enough to keep from reaching for her again. “I’m okay.”

“So, I see you have yet to stop saying it’s okay when it’s not.”

A rough chuckle left me. “This is the reason we said questions you’d never ask on a first date. You’re not supposed to know these things.”

“You better believe I’m not drinking that chocolate milk in the fridge either, now that I know it’s full of backwash.”

My chin dropped to my chest, shaking with silent laughter.

The TV lit up, and the announcer called out Ethan Stone’s name.

“Oh, he’s my favorite,” Daisy said, pointing to the screen. “Every time he’s at the plate, it’s like forearm porn.”

I tugged my hat off my head, holding it in my hands instead, because, fuck, I did not like the sound of that. “We had the same agent. I know Ethan.”

She chuckled, then tugged her sleeves down over her hands. “Of course you do.”

“Stone’s been on fire this season,” the announcer said, voice rising with excitement. “If he keeps this up, he’s headed for Hall of Fame status and a household name up there with the greats.”

As if he’d heard them, Stone hit the ball hard down the line, the crack of the bat sharp even through the low volume.

I should’ve been watching it. Instead, I was watching Daisy.

The way her eyes lit up when she leaned forward. How her sleeve hung over her knuckles as she curled her hands together. The quiet little sound she made under her breath.

I’d seen a thousand games like this, but sitting here with her, sharing this small, ordinary slice of my life felt different.

“Get out, get out, get out,” Daisy said, perched on the edge of the couch now, locked in.

The ball clipped the very top of the wall and dropped back into play. She fell back with a groan.

“Damn.” She gestured toward the TV as the announcers confirmed Ethan stopped at second. “That was so close.”

I nodded, still a half-beat behind, my attention slow to catch up.

“Yeah,” I said, finally looking away.

We watched the game together, her quizzing me about which players I knew—a lot of them—and asking for gossip about each one. Unfortunately for her, three years out of the city meant everything I knew was old news, and not as juicy as she hoped.

“So, no one is secretly dating the manager’s daughter?” she asked. “Or maybe a player’s sister? No rivals hooking up in their hotel rooms?”

I turned my hat in my hands and gave her a lopsided grin. “Not that I’m aware of, no.”

“Well, that’s kind of a bummer.”

I laughed, then stood to get myself a drink. “Want anything while I’m up?”

She waved me off, then turned around to watch me go. The longer she stared, the wider her grin spread. I looked away to reach into the fridge, pulling out a Gatorade. When I cracked the lid, she let out a little huff.

“I thought I was about to witness your little act of rebellion.”

“Well, I can’t now that you’re watching me.”

She shook her head, then went back to watching the game. “How was your day?”

“Had a pig dropped in my lap,” I said between sips. “So, weird.”