Not the Only One (Book 1 in the Four of Us Trilogy)

Twenty-Six

Luke

Calm the hell down, Salazar. You're just going to the back parking lot by the greenhouse. Not the Inaugural Ball.

I was trying to remain calm, but ever since Brooke propositioned me to meet her out here, I couldn't think of anything except pushing her against a car and ravishing her.

During 7th, I already couldn't concentrate on anything Brooks was saying—my physics grade was going to suffer—but then I noticed Rachel looking at her phone and back up at me, this sneaky little grin on her face.

"What?" I had mouthed, but she just shrugged and shook her head.

So now here I stand in the back lobby, people filing out to the parking lot on either side of me. I was fighting an inner war—do I take a chance and go? Or do I play it safe and just go to the art room like usual? Before I could chicken out, I took a deep breath and pushed open the double doors, heading toward where I knew Brooke parked her car. The parking lot was almost empty already, just the baseball team's cars remained.

As I got closer to her SUV, I could see she was bending over tossing her backpack into the backseat.

I whistled as I walked up, feeling emboldened.

She whirled around, her black hair flying back over her shoulder. She grinned when she saw me. "You came," she said, sounding pleased.

I took a step toward her. "I almost didn't," I admitted.

Her brown eyes lost a little of their sparkle. "Why not?" She leaned against the open door of her backseat.

"Honestly? Because I couldn't believe this was happening," I whispered, digging my toe into a hole in the pavement.

"Couldn't believe what was happening?" 

I looked up and gestured between us. "This. Us."

"Luke—" 

I held up my hand. "Wait. Let me explain...I've never had many friends, not to mention a girlfriend. I mean, for fuck's sake, my dad praised me for staying at your house until 1:00 in the morning," I said, laughing. "So when you flirt with me, understand that my first reaction is to be suspicious," I finished.

She nodded. "I understand, Luke. I do. But you have to believe me; I like you," she whispered, and for a moment, the cool façade was gone, and Brooke was open, vulnerable.

It was all I needed to hear. In a second, I was in front of her, my hands on her hourglass waist, resting against the curve of her hips. I leaned toward her, putting a hand on her cheek, caressing her soft skin with my thumb. Her eyes fluttered closed, and I touched my lips to hers.

She pressed herself against me and put both hands in my hair, tugging gently. I ran my tongue along the center of her mouth, her lips parting to deepen the kiss. I stepped forward, not separating from her, but laying her down in the spacious, empty back seat of her SUV.

She looked up at me, her lips turned up into a sultry smile. I moved her hair out of her face and leaned in for another kiss, deepening it right away this time.

I pulled the door closest to me shut and leaned back against it, our legs resting parallel to each other. We were both breathing hard, our chests rising and falling almost in unison.

"You don't know how long I've been wanting to do that."

She raised one eyebrow and winked. "I can tell," she teased. When I threw an eye roll in her direction, she held up both hands. "Me too, though," she said.

"I'd like to continue this at some point...and not in the school parking lot," I said, running my hand up and down one of her long, smooth legs.

"Come to my house tomorrow night—Katherine is going on a date, then she has an overnight shift at the hospital," she said.

"Absolutely." 

Being alone with Brooke Kane was something I never thought I'd have within my reach. And looking at her across from me in the back seat of her car, I knew this was real.

This was actually happening.

Rachel

When I jogged up the stairs to the baseball field at 3:20, I noticed Brooke's car was still in the parking lot. I guess the make-out session is still active. I laughed to myself as I held my five dollars out to Ms. Johnson, who was working the entry gate.

"Put your money away," she said, waving my hand away from the table.

"What? Students don't get in free," I protested.

"They do when they're dating the star pitcher of the Bay County High baseball team," she said, winking and handing me a white card.

I took it from her and looked at it as I shoved the bills back into my back pocket; it was a season pass.

This card entitles the carrier to admission to every home baseball game for Bay County High.

On the back, there was a handwritten note that I recognized as Miles' looping cursive.

I hope you'll cheer me on every chance you get. Seeing you in the stands will make all the difference to me. xx –Miles

I bit my lip, the mammoth butterflies returning.

"Thanks, Ms. J," I said, flashing her a smile.

"You're welcome, Rachel. Enjoy the game."

Trudging up the hill to the field, I took a seat on the second row of the bleachers near the dugout. I slid on my Ray-Bans, the sun shining on my shoulders.

I had gotten there just in time for the start of the game, the announcer's voice booming over the speakers, announcing each player's name.

"... and last, but certainly not least, number 72, senior pitcher Miles Jefferson!"

I jumped up, joining in the cheer that erupted through the stands. Miles jogged out to the pitcher's mound from the dugout, pulling on his glove.

My mouth dropped—I had never seen him in his uniform before—and ho-ly shit...baseball pants. His ass had never looked so grabbable.

The announcer asked everyone to stand and remove hats for the national anthem. I put my hand over my heart and forced myself to look at the flag instead of Miles' backside.

"... Play ball!" the announcer finished, and my eyes snapped back to the mound.

Miles made eye contact with me and put his first two fingers to his lips. I blushed and did the same.

Then, something happened. Miles' eyes flashed to the left of me and his face turned white. I furrowed my brow and followed his gaze. There was a man sitting a few seats down from me; he was not too tall, not too short, with short ginger hair and a short goatee. He had the same eyes as Miles and I knew—it was his father.