The Other Game: A Dean Carter Novel (The Perfect Game #4) Read Free Page B

were a freshman in high school, you tended to believe the things that girls said. I learned my lesson about being used pretty early when it came to girls lying to get what they wanted.
    “Holy shit, that’s bananas!”
    Melissa broke out into laughter, but I didn’t join in. This was the story of my life, and it really wasn’t funny.
    “That’s why it’s weird that he’d give you his number.” I frowned at Cassie, wondering just what game my brother was playing. “He doesn’t give anyone his number.”
    “Well, like I said, I could be wrong,” she said quickly.
    Melissa gestured toward her bag. “Then get it out and read it now.”
    “No. Not in the freaking student union while he’s right over there. Later.”
    Cassie grabbed her things and pushed back from the table to walk toward the trash cans. Jack jogged over to her and they exchanged words, their body language resembling that night at the frat party.
    “Come to my game tonight!” Jack shouted as she stomped away and opened the glass doors.
    “I don’t think so,” she snapped back.
    “Don’t you want to see me pitch?” he asked, his voice cocky.
    She paused, holding the door open with one arm. “I saw you pitching earlier. In slow motion, remember? I think I got the gist.”
    As Cassie left, I turned back to Melissa, who was frowning.
    “Well, this oughta be fun,” I said with a laugh, but she shook her head.
    “Fun for you, maybe, but there’s no way this is going to end well,” she said sadly. “He’s going to wear her down, and she knows it.”
    “I honestly think she likes him,” I offered with a shrug before taking another bite of pizza.
    Melissa watched as Jack stared after Cassie.
    “I think so too,” she said. “And that’s what worries me.”

Baseball Is Life
    “Gran, are you almost ready?” I yelled from the living room where I waited with Gramps.
    “Don’t you know better than to try to rush a woman, son?” Gramps looked at me over his glasses.
    I glanced at my watch as I paced the small living room. “I don’t want to be late for the game. And you don’t either.”
    “No. That’s why I let you yell for her, so I don’t get in trouble.” He shot me a devilish grin, and I rolled my eyes.
    “I’m coming, I’m coming,” Gran shouted from their bedroom.
    The smell of lasagna filled the entire house, and my mouth watered at the thought of digging into it later. Jack knew Gran would make him whatever he wanted, but he always made me ask anyway.
    “Dinner smells amazing, Gran,” I told her when we finally headed outside.
    She snorted. “It better. I spent all morning making it.”
    “No one does it better than you do,” Gramps said with a smile as we piled into their car, an aging Honda that flipped over the odometer long ago.
    Gran buckled up in the front seat and narrowed her eyes at us. “You two stop buttering me up. What do you want?”
    “I don’t want to be late,” I said from the backseat.
    “Then you’d better get going.” She smacked Gramps’s shoulder as he stepped on the gas and pulled away from the house.
    Thankfully we didn’t live too far from campus, so the drive there was quick. I hated missing a single pitch when Jack played. Watching him was one of the coolest things ever. He had a presence on the mound that you couldn’t teach, and it filled me with pride every single game.
    From the moment he stepped onto the field, Jack was all business. Screaming girls shouted his name from the stands, many of them wearing jerseys with his number on them, but none of it mattered. All he saw was the catcher’s glove sixty feet away from him, and all he focused on was hitting the pitch that was called.
    We’d spent too many nights to count talking about baseball and his love for it. It actually made me a little envious sometimes, and I wished I loved something as much as he did. I often reminded Jack how lucky he was to be great at the one thing he wanted to do for a living.
    Many amateur