But he hadn’t thrown a ball. He’d thrown . . . socks?

“Hey,” I said, watching him retrieve the socks and go back to where he’d stood. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. I do this when I can’t sleep sometimes.”

I bit my lip. “Why can’t you sleep?”

He shrugged, getting into position again. “I don’t know. I just can’t.”

“Is it because of that reporter?”

“I don’t know.”

“Or the asshole dad you told me about? The one at practice?”

“I told you. I don’t know.” He wound up and threw again, and even though I knew it was only socks, I still winced when they hit the glass.

“Is it me?”

He went over and picked up the socks. “It’s not you.”

I didn’t believe him for some reason. Not entirely. “Come talk to me.”

“I don’t feel like talking, okay? Just turn off the light and go back to sleep.”

In my head, I went over the last couple hours before we’d gone to bed. Had I missed something? We’d gone up to his room, ordered dinner, watched a movie, and gotten naked before the credits even rolled. The sex had been incredible, as usual—maybe a little less loud and playful than usual, but he’d seemed fine afterward. Or had I fallen asleep so quickly, I hadn’t noticed that he wasn’t?

Naked, I slipped out from beneath the covers and went up behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist and pressing my cheek against his bare back. “If you don’t come talk to me, I won’t be able to sleep either.”

“Then I guess we’ll both be up,” he snapped. We stood there for a minute, then he exhaled. “Sorry. I had a bad dream. One I used to have all the time after I couldn’t pitch anymore.”

“What’s it about?”

“Being buried alive.”

“Oh.”

“By a cement mixer.”

“Yikes.”

“And the wet cement starts to harden right away, so I can’t move. Can’t save myself. My arms and legs and hands are just . . . stuck. Useless.” He rolled his shoulders. “So I had to get out of bed and move. Remind myself I’m in control.”

“Of course.” I kissed his spine. “Do you have bad dreams a lot?”

“I used to. Since I quit baseball, not so much anymore.”

“So what brought the dream back tonight?”

“I’m not sure. Could have been that reporter, I guess. Or Brock, the asshole dad.” He paused. “Could have been the talk I had with Virgil this afternoon.”

“About what?”

“Just some stuff about my father.”

“Yeah?” I wouldn’t press. Instead, I gave him space to tell me about it if he wanted to.

A beat went by before he spoke. “I asked Virgil if he thought my dad would’ve called me a quitter. If he thought my dad would’ve thought less of me for giving up the game.”

“And what did he say?”

“He said no, of course. That’s what he had to say.”

“You don’t think that’s true?”

“I can’t decide. I want it to be true, but . . . baseball was the only thing I ever did that made my dad proud. Without it, what’s left?”

I swallowed hard. “How about the rest of your life? All the amazing things you’re going to do and be? Maybe you can’t see them yet, but I can.”

He turned around and looked at me. Took my face in his hands. “No one has ever seen me the way you do.”

I smiled. “Maybe no one ever bothered to look beyond the surface—I mean, you’re Tyler Shaw. The surface is pretty nice to look at.”

He kissed me hard then, and deep, his tongue penetrating my lips, his hands sliding into my hair. The kiss grew hotter as he moved me backward toward the bed, shoving his pants down, and lifting me onto the sheets.

“God, April,” he whispered as his mouth traveled down my throat and his hands roamed over my skin. “I want you so much. I want you so much it scares me.”

“Why?” I arched beneath his lips and tongue and teeth and palms and fingers as they moved over my body. I put my hands in his hair.

“Because I keep imagining this life with you, this life full of things I’ve never wanted before.”

“What kinds of things?” As much as I loved his dirty mouth, his sweet words were just as thrilling, and I wanted to hear them all.

“I want to share a bed with you every night. And wake up to you every morning. I want to make breakfast for you, see you in the stands at Central High baseball games, reach all the stuff in the high cupboards in the kitchen. I want to be the one you come home to.”

I smiled. “Don’t be scared. I want all those things too.”

“But what if I fuck it up?” He kissed his way up the center of my chest and braced himself above me. “What if I’m not good at it? What if I don’t deserve it?”

“Tyler.” I took his face in my hands. “You deserve it. Do you hear me? You deserve to be loved the way I’m going to love you.”

Then his mouth was crushing mine and we were pressed chest to chest, rolling sideways with our arms and legs tangled as we tried to get under each other’s skin. I reached low between us, sheathing his cock with my hand, desperate to feel him deep inside me, to let him take control, to show him I trusted him—and that he was safe with me.

He left my side only for the twenty seconds it took to put a condom on, and then he was back, easing into my body. When he was buried deep, he stopped and looked down at me. “I don’t know what the second act of my life is going to look like, but I know you’re the best part of it.”

My heart, already beating hard, threatened to burst right out of my chest. “Really?”

“Yes.”

Tell me again, I wanted to say, even as his mouth possessed mine once more and he began rocking into me with deep, steady strokes. Let me hear those words again, because they meant I didn’t have to be alone anymore. They meant the risk was worth it.

They meant that finally I could say to myself . . . This is what it feels like to fall in love.

The following morning, Tyler got up early. Like, it-was-still-dark-outside early.

“You okay?” I asked as he pulled on sweats. I’d fallen asleep right after our round two in the middle of the night, so I had no idea if he’d been up all night or managed to get some rest.

“Yeah. I’m just gonna go down and get a workout in.”

I bit my lip. “Did you sleep?”

“I slept some.”

“Okay. I think I’ll sleep in a little more. I have to be at work late tonight for a wedding.”

He came over and kissed my forehead. “Sleep as long as you want. I like you in my bed.”

Wiggling my toes, I snuggled down deeper into the covers, and I didn’t wake up until I heard the door open and shut again. “Hey,” I said, stretching. “How was your workout?”

“It was okay. A little sluggish.”

“I bet.” I patted the spot next to me. “Why don’t you come back to bed?”