Free Behind the Pitch, a novella: Seeking Serenity 1.5 by Eden Butler

paying me much attention.
    My trainers moved, three steps at least, but it seemed my body had other ideas. It was her smell, sweet and tempting. It was the way her back straightened as though she needed to be on alert just because we were sharing the same space. I couldn’t help myself. Never could where Autumn was concerned.
    “I’m sorry,” I said, hoping she’d nod, dismiss me quickly. Yeah. Like that would ever happen.
    “Nothing to be sorry for.” She dismissed me alright, a quick glance and then returned to those beloved books of hers. But her indifference was forced. Her guard was held tight against any emotion I might have caused her to have.
    It was frustrating how guarded she could be, how at-arms-length she kept the world, especially me. I hated seeing her that way. Hated that she wouldn’t relax her rigid shoulders or let her back lower into a slouch.
    Her shoulders tightened further when I squatted next to her. “I know you were upset.”
    “No I wasn’t.” Stubborn arse. Such a liar.
    “You were.”
    I saw the tirade coming, the hurtful words eager to jump off her tongue. Her eyes were narrowed, hard, and I should have expected the cruelty that came next. “Yes, because all the weeks you’ve known me gives you unfettered knowledge to every one of my emotions.”
    I needed a breath; something to calm me, to cover my eyes with my hands, release an exhale to keep my temper from flaring. “I just meant that the other night, after our date, at your apartment, wasn’t how I—”
    “Don’t mention it. I’m over it. It was fun, but it’s not gonna happen again. You made that perfectly clear.”
    Anger it was. Anger and a fat lot of bullshite. She was deflecting. She was a fecking master at deflection. “Autumn…”
    “It’s fine, Declan. Don’t worry about me. You were right. We would be a disaster.”
    She didn’t flinch, didn’t give me any indication that there would be any cracks in her self-inflicted guard. It pissed me off. “Disaster is a bit extreme, don’t you think?”
    “I don’t.” Again she returned to her books as though I wasn’t significant enough to even acknowledge.
    “Really? I thought we were going to be mates.”
    “I have enough mates .” Autumn made the word sound dirty, foul. “Don’t know how many times I have to tell you that. Besides, it’s not like we have anything at all in common. That’s sort of a requirement for friendship.”
    Well, that was rude and complete bollocks. “We have plenty in common.”
    “Dead mothers and rugby do not a friendship make, Declan.”
    I couldn’t keep my temper in check. There was a connection. She knew that. It went back to that first day in her classroom when I wanted to kiss her, touch her, even though Morrison stood feet from us. It was a connection that I knew wasn’t forced, wasn’t some barmy little figment of my own creation. She was being cruel on purpose, and in the back of my mind I knew that, but sense and reason didn’t carry much weight when your temper tells you to scream your mad head off. I looked down at her, straightened my own shoulders, mimicking the defensive cast of her body, and the words slipped out before I could stop them.
    “You don’t have to be a bitch about this, McShane.”
    Shite. Her jumping to her feet, rounding on me wasn’t good.
    “I’m not, Declan. We aren’t friends. We were never friends. Remember telling me that? You were right. Friends don’t attack you when they’re drunk. Friends don’t cheat you into a date. Friends don’t act like assholes after—after kissing you and touching you and— where was friendship in all of that?”
    She wasn’t wrong. I never wanted to be her friend. We could never have just that. That connection again, moth to flame, light to dark, there was no bond past the wanting, aside from the passion. I let the anger bubble around my gut, curdle until it lifted into my chest. There were insults sliding on my tongue, desperate to hurt, to