Emerge (Evolve Series #1)(9)

feels good being around Evan, but something has shifted and now it feels even better. Consumed by these new stirrings and the cover

of the night sky, I’m emboldened. I place my hand on his thigh and pull his leg in until it’s tight against me, hearing his sharp

intake of breath. His body stiffens for a moment and then relaxes with his exhale.

“How long are we staying?” I ask quietly.

“We can leave whenever you’re ready. I’m only here because you are.” He tucks my hair behind one ear as he says it and I’ve

never felt more feminine in my life.

“I’ll be right back,” I say as I get up to go wrangle Kaitlyn home.

I secure a ride for Matt, who again apologizes for his earlier behavior, probably because he and Kaitlyn think it’d be a great

idea for her to ride with them; which I respond to with a laughing “hell no.”

Holding Kaitlyn up as we wait for Evan to bring the truck proves to be a challenge and I wonder how I’ll get her past my dad. Her

rancid breath is really testing the duties of friendship right now...and if she pukes in Evan’s truck, Lord help her.

“Laney, did you have fun?!” Kaitlyn shrieks from the backseat when we’re finally loaded.

“I actually had one of the best nights of my life. Thanks for making me go,” I tell her, casting a sidelong glance at Evan. So

worth it; the smile on his face as he reaches for my hand is one I will never forget.

“Me too, beautiful. Me too.”





Chapter Four


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Hit or Miss

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EVAN

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This is a huge risk, but it’s one I’m willing to take. Ever since I finally kissed Laney Jo Walker, fantasy and reality collided,

and my two worlds will never be separate again. I’ve dreamed of kissing her since I was ten years old. I knew I’d never be the

same when and if it ever happened. It isn’t.

Girls seem to throw themselves at you when you play ball, and temptation has gotten the better of me a time or two, but it’s never

taken more than a couple days for the comparisons to mount up and my total focus to return to her, even if she’s oblivious to how

I feel. She’s finally coming around and I have to push forward and never let her backtrack.

Now that I know those lips really are as sweet as honey and those hands are small but seeking, I can think of nothing else. And

that little noise she makes in her throat when I touch her...my new weakness.

So here I am, sitting at the baseball field, about to ask Laney to prom. She’s blown off every dance in history, but I can’t

think of any better way to end our senior year, our long journey from youth to adult that we made together, than with her in my

arms. I’ve thought long and hard about how to ask her; this plan speaks her language. Her sweet little voice interrupts my

thoughts.

“Evan, not to sound ungrateful, but you picked me up from the softball field to surprise me with the baseball field?”

She’s so ornery.

“Lovebug, don’t say anything until I’m done, okay?” She says nothing and cocks an eyebrow.

“Prom tickets went on sale today, and I know you hate that kind of thing, but I’d be the luckiest man alive to take you. So...I

have a proposition for ya.”

Still nothing. I see the wheels turning, though, I was counting on that.

“Now, I know you’d never back down from a bet with me,” I say, recalling that a lost bet resulted in her eating a worm when we

were eleven, “and I also know you’d never welch on one, so let’s leave it up to fate. If I can strike you out, you go to prom

with me. You hit off me, I’ll drop it.”

Still nothing.

And still...

“Ok, I’m done, say something.” “You’re on.”

Almost all in one motion, she jumps out, grabs her bag, tightens her ponytail, and then heads to the field like a little wildcat.

Adorable.

“Okay.” She smirks and taps her bat against the plate, popping out her butt further than usual in an attempt to distract me.

“Show me whatcha got.”

I love when Laney’s like this, self-confident and playful, but I’m still gonna strike her ass out. Knowingly, I put the first

pitch on the outside of the plate and she reaches, cutting through air; she can’t lay off those. She mumbles what I think is

“bastard” and I chuckle, reaching down for another ball.

Her bat never leaves her shoulder with the next pitch and I ask her, arms out to my sides, “you gonna swing or stand there and

look pretty?”

“That was low, ball one.”

“Ha!” I raise my brows at her. “You think I’m gonna let you call? That was perfect and you know it. Swing the bat, picky pants.

”

A full count, thanks to her continued one-sided umping, and a clenched jaw later, I see my dreams dwindling before my very eyes.

Her dad taught me how to pitch and her how to bat...probably should have thought that one out a little better. As the last pitch