Karma’s Kiss

Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

Sawyer and I are on the international space station, fooling around in zero gravity. As far as sexy dreams go, it’s a bit weird, but I can’t complain. We’re sort of aimlessly floating around while Sawyer tries to undo the Velcro straps on the front of my space suit. It’s really stuck together tight; NASA put their greatest minds to work on this damn Velcro.

Is this some repressed fetish of mine? Do I have a thing for astronauts?

My phone rings on my nightstand just as Sawyer succeeds in undressing me from the waist up. I ignore the ringing and try to delve back into my dream, but now my subconscious is having a field day with this setting. Loose packets of space food float past our heads.

I groan in annoyance and rip my phone off the side table.

David’s chipper voice grates on my nerves. “Morning, slugger. Rise and shine. Game’s in an hour.”

“ Whatareyoutalkingabout? ”

I don’t expect him to understand me since my face is pressed into my pillow, but he manages just fine.

“Softball. You think we’d let you go after your stellar performance last week? You were the MVP.”

“Hilarious. Now leave me alone. Mom and Marge got me drunk last night, kept me out until midnight. I have a hazy memory of Marge dancing on a table and taking off her bra through the arm hole of her shirt.”

“Well that will be burned in my brain forever. Appreciate it.”

“I’m going back to sleep now,” I groan.

“We need you!” he insists.

“No.” Then I hang up and toss my phone onto my bedside table.

It’s a few minutes later as I’m drifting in and out of sleep—trying and failing to recapture the magic of the space station from a few minutes ago—that I realize Sawyer will be at softball. He’s the captain of the team!

I sit up and toss my blankets off me.

Oh, this is perfect. Up until now, I’ve relied on Sawyer chasing me, but he’s fallen off the face of the planet in the last two days and I can’t reach out to him overtly because then I would have to admit to myself that I want to reach out to him. I’m supposed to be keeping my distance. That’s the plan, but going to softball doesn’t interfere with that. I’m going to the game because David really needs me. I can’t let the team down. I’m the MVP .

It’s good I’m already getting a move on because as I’m walking toward the kitchen with one hand on the wall to steady myself—hangover in full force—I hear a honk from out front.

“That’ll be David here to pick you up for softball,” Queenie says, smiling from the kitchen doorway as she watches me practically crawling my way toward her.

“Need. Coffee.” I sound like I’m dying. “And why is this house spinning? Are we on a boat?”

“That’ll be the mojitos. I’ll make you a hair of the dog.”

Five minutes later, I slide into David’s back seat with my sunglasses on and a baseball cap pulled low over my eyes.

Lindsey turns back to look at me from the passenger seat. “Morning!”

My response is an undecipherable grumble.

Then she sniffs and scrunches up her nose. “What is in that drink ? It smells putrid.”

I look down at the reddish brown liquid Queenie handed me on the way out the door. “Tabasco sauce and lemon juice. Other stuff too. I quit watching her make it after she added a raw egg.”

Lindsey gags.

“They got me so drunk last night. I think I’m going to die. Can you roll down the window back here?”

I proceed to ride to the ballfields with my head lolling out the window like I’m the family’s beloved golden retriever. I force down three sips of Queenie’s hair of the dog before my stomach protests altogether and I toss the remaining liquid (though can you really call it a liquid if there are unidentifiable chunks floating in it?) onto the grass behind David’s truck.

“You gonna make it?” Lindsey asks, helping me walk toward the fields with her arm around my back.

“It’s okay so long as I don’t move and I keep my eyes shut.”

This is by far the most trouble I’ve ever gone to just to spend time with a guy I’m NOT INTERESTED IN, but seeing Sawyer for the first time completely confirms I’ve made the right choice. So what if I almost threw up a little bit back in those bushes?

Sawyer is a god in the outfield, backlit by the rising sun. He’s wearing his captain’s t-shirt and black workout shorts. He looks gorgeous—tall, strong, confident—as he lobs softballs to a few of the Heatwave players. He’s having them practice scooping up grounders, and he does it with an encouraging smile.

When he sees us walking along the perimeter fence, he waves. I smile brightly and wave back, but when he turns to continue running the drill, I sag back to my previous posture.

“Sure this is a good idea?” Lindsey asks.

“Help me sit on the dugout bench and then I’ll get it together. I just need a few minutes.”

While everyone else goes out onto the field to practice some pregame drills, I sit with my head tipped back against the chain-link fence, working on taking deep breaths and focusing on a single point out in the distance.

A few minutes before the game starts, everyone crowds in around me. David pats my shoulder. “If I’d known you were really this sick, I wouldn’t have forced you out of bed.” There’s a touch of remorse in his tone. “Want me to see if I can get you a ride home?”

“ No. I’m fine.” I don’t want to give up now that I’m so close to getting to talk to Sawyer. He’s out near home plate, chatting with the captain of the other team. Soon he’ll have to come into the dugout though.

I can’t believe it’s only been two days since I was last with him, kissing in the creek. It feels like longer. I want him to look at me and smile. I want his attention, but he’s too busy getting everything ready to go for the game to start.

The one silver lining is that this team seems to be much less intense than last week’s. There are no war chants, no music blaring so loud it rattles my eardrums. I wouldn’t be able to survive that.

Finally, Sawyer walks into the dugout and whistles to get everyone’s attention. I swear everyone sits up a little straighter as they give him their full focus. He’s so good at being captain, at taking command of us. “Listen up, I’ve made some changes to the batting order. Lindsey and Charlotte, you’ll go after Madison.”

“Oh.”

There’s a bit of confusion as Lindsey and Charlotte look at me. I should definitely not be batting before them, but maybe Sawyer has some secret strategy we’re not privy to. Or maybe he’s showing me a little favoritism. I have to tamp down my smile at the thought.

I stand, the world spins, and I swap spots with them.

Sawyer walks in our direction and I think he’s heading toward me. He’s going to smile and bend down, ask how I’m feeling, maybe even press the back of his hand to my forehead. I’m still daydreaming about the possibilities when I realize he’s walked right by on his way to grab something from his bag at the far end of the dugout. I stare in confusion, but then, of course . It clicks. He’s just bumped me up in the batting order; he’s probably trying to be sly about it. That, or David must have warned him that I’m not feeling well. I’m giving major Fuck Off vibes. No one has tried to talk to me except to ask if I’m okay.

“I got drunk with Queenie and Marge once.” Pam O’Neal chuckles. “That hangover lasted a week . Don’t envy you, girl.”

You know who’s not feeling hungover? Charlotte. She’s in her full glory this morning. She’s accessorized her red and white uniform with all the pink she could manage: pink Nikes, pink jewel-studded headband, tiny pink diamond studs in her ears. She’s perky and upbeat, leading everyone in a chant as Sawyer goes out to bat.

“I just love watching him hit!” she squeals to Lindsey with an obvious sparkle of love in her eyes. Looking at her makes me feel like I’m staring at a Disney princess. Which makes me…what? The ogre? The troll? The Pixar lamp?

As if on cue, my stomach roils, solidifying my non-princess casting in this fairy tale. Princesses aren’t hungover at softball. I really should have tried to eat something before I got here.

Sawyer hits a triple and then David sends him home when he whacks one over the shortstop’s head. As Sawyer runs back into the dugout, everyone holds out a hand for a high five, congratulating him on the first run of the game. He accidentally misses my hand, but to be fair, there’s a lot going on in here.

“Great job, Sawyer!”

“Let’s do this, Heatwave!”

I lean forward just enough to watch Sawyer take a seat beside Charlotte.

She bumps her shoulder against his with a girlish laugh. “Nice job, captain .”

“You going to hit a good one today?” he asks her with a shadow of a smile.

“How could I not with how much you helped me practice before the game? I think I’ve really got it now.”

A twist of jealousy makes my stomach hurt more than it already does. While I appreciate that Sawyer’s moved me up in the batting order, it has the unintended consequence of putting Charlotte right beside him; whenever we’re in the dugout, she’ll be wedged between us, occupying his time.

It’s fine though; not like I’d be the best conversationalist today. I’m lucky I can even manage to get up and bat when it’s my turn. Of course I strike out. There was no chance in hell I was going to connect bat to ball in my current state. Frankly just standing is an accomplishment.

Everyone consoles me as I make my way back to my seat.

“You’ll get ’em next time, Madison!”

“You nearly had that last one, Madi!”

I peer over at Sawyer, waiting to see what helpful thing he’ll say, but he’s focused down on his clipboard.

When it’s her turn at bat, Charlotte gets a hit and makes it to first base in the nick of time, and though the inning ends before she can make it all the way home, Sawyer congratulates her like she’s just singlehandedly won the game for us.

“I did everything just like you said!” she says excitedly. “I kept my eye on the ball and I didn’t swing too early!”

“It was a great hit,” he tells her with a playful hair tussle.

I stare with a twisted expression on my face. Am I still drunk? Is that why none of this is making sense?

It only gets worse when Sawyer changes the field positions on us. I figured I’d be in the outfield again, left to sit in the grass and cry by myself.

“—Lindsey, third base. Charlotte, left field. Jimmy, center field. Madison, catcher.”

“That’s my position!” Jimmy O’Neal argues.

“Not today. I need you as center. These guys look like they can hit.”

Jimmy accepts this argument and my quiet protest goes totally ignored, so I’m left to put on all the catcher’s equipment with the help of Lindsey. It’s bulky and oversized, perfect for Jimmy, who’s at least a foot taller than me. There’s a chest plate and helmet, leg guards that go from my groin all the way down to my toes. I was already sweating—and reeking of rum—but all this heavy gear has the horrible effect of cranking up the earth’s thermostat. Sweat drips down my forehead, and I blink it out of my eyes.

The worst part is that I can’t easily walk or move once I have the gear on. I have to waddle out from the dugout comedically slowly. If Sawyer thought he was doing me a favor by putting me here rather than in the outfield for this inning, he was wrong. I know I had to do a lot of running last game, but at least I could feel fresh air on my face.

When I reach home plate—two hours later—I turn and see the batter from the other team is already there, smiling at me.

“You okay in there?” The guy chuckles.

“Not really.”

I look down trying to determine where to stand, but I can’t see much through the helmet because it keeps slipping around on my head. Obviously, I’ve watched baseball before, so I know the catcher kind of hovers behind home plate, but the logistics are fuzzy at the moment.

I look up to see Sawyer frowning at me from the pitcher’s mound.

“What do I—”

“Bend down, catch the pitches, throw them back.”

Is it just my imagination or is his tone a little clipped? It’s like he’s annoyed I’m not the world’s most experienced catcher.

“Okay.”

My stomach protests as I bend down into position. Then I hold my glove out in front of me like professional catchers do, but I’m not at all ready for when Sawyer’s first throw comes barreling at me at supersonic speed. I yelp as it slams into my glove.

Holy sh—

I glare down as if checking for burn marks.

OW!

“Throw it back, Madison,” Sawyer snaps impatiently.

I shake out my hand and toss the ball back, annoyed that it doesn’t make it all the way to him, but to be fair, it’s not so easy to throw well from this crouched position. Sawyer shakes his head in annoyance as he trots forward to scoop the ball up off the ground.

The second pitch heats up even more, slamming into my glove with enough force to almost topple me backward.

“Sorry,” the batter says quietly. “I’ll make sure to hit this one so you don’t have to catch it.”

Yeah…that’d be great, except he can’t manage it. Sawyer throws one more pitch and it smacks into my chest plate, flattening me out onto the ground. I blink up at the sky trying to get my bearings.

“Jesus, Sawyer. Ease up, will you?” David shouts, running home to help me back to my feet. “You okay, sis?”

“What day is it?” I tease.

He smiles and shakes his head. “He’s just trying to intimidate the other team. Come out guns blazing, that kind of thing. He’ll lighten up.”

Sawyer does not lighten up. He’s on fire, managing to strike out the first three batters. I’m grateful the inning ends relatively quickly as it means I don’t have to endure this torture for one more second. I stand and yank off my glove, staring down at my red, inflamed palm. My hand is shaking, but when Sawyer looks over, I give him a thumbs-up and a weak smile so he doesn’t have to worry that he might have hurt me. It’s probably my fault I don’t know how to catch better. Jimmy doesn’t complain about Sawyer’s pitches when he plays catcher.

Lindsey hurries over to help me out of the gear so I don’t have to waddle back to the dugout with it on. It would be nice if Sawyer assisted, or even acknowledged me, really. He’s been so aloof this morning, acting like we barely know each other. Is he trying to play it cool in front of everyone or did he finally take my “I just got out of an engagement” protestations to heart? And why does the idea of that no longer sit right with me?

David catches up to Sawyer on their way back to the dugout, and I overhear him ask, “What was that about?” but I don’t catch Sawyer’s reply.

I’m a sweaty dehydrated mess by the time the game ends, and I’m fairly certain I have two to three broken bones in my left hand. To no one’s surprise, Heatwave wins 10-0; Sawyer gave it his all. The other team couldn’t hit off him to save their life. It’s like Sawyer was trying to impress an MLB scout or something.

Jimmy and Pam have convinced Hunter to head to John’s Ice House for an early celebratory lunch, and they’re wrangling the rest of the troops as I try to down a Gatorade, desperate for the electrolytes.

“Charlotte? Lindsey? You guys in?”

Lindsey has to get back to Cruz, but Charlotte eagerly agrees, her eyes darting over to Sawyer to see if he’s joining as well, but he doesn’t notice. He’s too busy packing up the catcher’s gear, shoving the chest plate into a huge black duffel bag with seemingly little patience.

I walk over to him with the helmet. “Here, don’t want to forget this.”

He takes it without looking up. “Thanks.”

“Great game. You and I made quite a dynamic duo,” I tease. “And hey, I should regain feeling in my hand by the end of the week, so it’s all good.”

He grunts, but he doesn’t laugh.

Okay, obviously something is up with him, and I’m pretty certain it has to do with us. Since I arrived back in town, Sawyer’s been the one chasing me , asking me out on dates, showing up uninvited to Queenie’s house and making his intentions very clear. While I’ve flirted and chatted along, happy to let him kiss me whenever he wants, I’ve also been sending mixed signals and pushing him away. I get that it might be confusing and he must have finally reached his limit. He has to be annoyed, and I know it’s my fault. I wish I’d had my head on straight from the start, but there’s been a lot going on and I really did think I needed more time between my failed engagement with Matthew and the start of something new. That said, if continuing to pump the brakes means letting Sawyer slip through my fingers because of bad timing, then screw timing.

I step closer and lower my voice. “Listen, are you busy later today?”

He finishes zipping the duffel bag then stands up to his full height. Always—but especially right now—it feels like he towers over me. His brown eyes lock with mine for the first time all day, and my stomach swoops in response.

“No,” he says with a hard edge.

I beam. “Great, because I’d love to hang out. You know, maybe even have a third date.” I scrunch my nose, rethinking quickly. “Wait, is it our third date? There was the vineyard and the restaurant and then I guess the creek kind of counts, right?” I smile. “So maybe this is date number four.”

I’m waiting for that trademark Sawyer Garnett smile. I would kill for a dimple right about now, but his eyebrows stay furrowed and his cool expression doesn’t soften. “Think that’s a good idea, Madison?”

His tone almost makes me take a hesitant step back. I’m not sure what he means. “Because of the Matthew stuff?” I venture.

I watch his jaw tighten, that muscle flexing there before he shakes his head, and then there’s the smile, though it doesn’t reach his eyes and something is slightly off.

“You know what? Come on over tonight. Yeah, I’d love to see you.”