And that's one of the ways I remember her.
Her face so close to mine I could hear her breathing.
"Huh?" She looked down at her hand, and her eyes widened before she said, "Holy shitballs!"
And then she squealed like a little girl. Her eyes squeezed shut as she threw her hand out in front of her, waving it around, dripping blood all over the floor. "I can't see blood. I mean, technically I can see it, but I can't look at it. You have to make it stop." She hadn't taken a breath. "Seriously, it freaks me the fuck out. Make it stop! Oh my god! I'm going to throw up! Move!" She started to stand, then stopped, gripped my shirt, faced away from me, and continued, "Don't move...fix it. Please?" Then she looked at me with panic clear on her face. "I'm going to pass out. Oh God. Oh God."
"Hey," I tried to soothe her. "It's fine, I got you." I held her arm and helped her to stand. I couldn't help the chuckle that escaped.
"It's not funny, I swear I'll throw up if I look at it."
She still had that panicked look, and her face had paled a few shades. That's when I realized she wasn't fucking around. It was also when I realized how cute she was. "Don't look at it then, just concentrate on my face."
So she did.
"Does it hurt?"
She nodded slowly, never taking her eyes off mine.
"Okay, I'm going to turn the tap off now, just let me know if I hurt you when I look at it, okay?"
Another slow nod.
I finally managed to tear my eyes off hers, to check out her finger. "You're just going to need a Band-Aid."
I cleaned up the mess on the floor, led her to the bathroom where the first aid kit was and told her to sit up on the counter.
Once the Band-Aid was on, I glanced up at her. "You good?"
She bit her lip, nodding. "Thanks," she said quietly. "What are you? A doctor or something?" She smiled wide, her legs kicked back and forth in front of her.
"Something like that."
"Well, Thank you. And sorry for freaking out, about the blood thing. I really just...ugh...me and blood are not friends." She scrunched up her nose and made a disgusted face.
I took her in and her big blue eyes looked back. Her light brown hair hung loose. It was the only time I'd seen it like that.
And that's when it hit me. She wasn't just cute. She was kind of fucking hot.
She bit her lip again and my eyes zoned in on the action. I wanted to kiss her. I wanted my mouth on hers and I wanted it bad. For some reason, I thought it was okay to do what I did next, because I was Logan Fucking Matthews, and I was a goddamn boss. Plus—chicks loved me.
So I made a move to kiss her, but I saw her eyes widen slightly before our lips made contact and the next thing I knew, her knee was in my junk and I was folding over myself trying to breath through the pain.
I leaned down, both hands on my parts, trying to soothe the ache. I couldn't breath properly. I was doing everything I could to not fall to the ground and cry. I saw her jump off the counter and bend down to look in my eyes.
"First, I don't even know you. Second, we're at a fucking wake. And third, you're an asshole," she said. One of her fingers pushed the middle of my forehead; hard enough that it made me fall back a little.
She opened the bathroom door quickly, and shut it behind her. Once I knew it was closed for sure, I dropped to the floor and rocked back and forth like a goddamn baby. The pain was that fucking intense.
***
I was out on the back patio with everyone else when I heard her voice. “Hi, Mikayla. I'm really sorry about your loss.“ She laughed once. "What a shit thing to say, like, you lost something but you'll find it again."
Micky laughed. "Amanda, how are you?"
Amanda.
I tuned out the conversation and just stared at her. She wasn't hot. Not the in your face kind of hot. She was something else. She's still something else.
***
As soon as she left, I knew I had to find her.
I rushed out of the house searching for her. She was on the sidewalk, pressing the fob to unlock a shitty red civic.
I virtually sprinted over to her. "Amanda!" I yelled.
She turned and froze in her spot.
I stopped inches in front of her, my breathing heavy from running.
"I need your number," I told her.
"What?" she said through an incredulous laugh.
"I need your number because I need to take you out." I tried my panty-dropping smile on her.
"Um, no." She turned around to open her car door.
"What?" I asked, disbelief laced in my tone.
"No," she repeated.
"Why not?" I was pissed off. "I'm just asking for your number."
She turned to face me, huffing out a breath.
"No, asshole." She rolled her eyes. "You weren't asking for my number. You were demanding it." She eyed my up and down. "Who are you anyway?"
"Logan Matthews," I put my hand out to shake hers.
She looked down at it, shook her head, laughed once, and then looked back up at me.
"Definitely no."
"What? Why? Give me one good reason," I spat out. I didn't know why it was getting to me, her not wanting me. But I was pissed off and I felt like I needed to win that argument, or whatever the fuck it was that was going on there.
"Because."
"That's not a reason."
"Because I have a boyfriend."
"No you don't." I shook my head and crossed my arms over my chest.
"Because you're an asshole."
"Valid, but not accepted. Next?"
"Because I like girls."
I eyed her up and down and licked my lips, "Even better."
She took a deep breath in and sighed out loud. "Fine." Her hand was out waiting, so I gave her my phone.
A huge shit-eating grin took over my face, because I just fucking won, and I couldn't wait to make her pay for it. She handed it back and rushed to get in her car. I watched her as she drove away.
Amanda.
Once she was gone, I looked down at my phone. The notes app was open:
In your dreams, asshole. Find another way to score your home run.
THREE
-Present-
We were three weeks away from the first game of the season and I was trying to get my classes sorted before baseball consumed all my free time. Baseball—it wasn't a big deal for me. I wasn't the best catcher on the team. I definitely wouldn't be starting. I walked onto the team by default because Jake and I were best friends and we played high school ball together for three years. They assumed we had a special connection on the field or some shit—some sort of secret communication. The thing is, Jake Andrews is that fucking good he could pitch to a brick wall and still be a big deal. I stayed on the team because it helped clear my head and gave me a good work out schedule. It's not my passion and it's definitely not my career.