The crack of the bat against the pop fly sends a thrill down my spine as I watch Marco position himself under the trajectory of the ball, his glove raised. The baseball sails into his glove with a thud, and he grabs it quickly, angling his body to throw to third for an out. Double play!

I cheer in the bleachers, clapping wildly and stomping my feet along with the parents and families of Marco's team. Whistling loudly, much to the amusement of the people sitting closest to me, Marco turns and lifts his hand in a half wave when he sees me. Then his eyes cut to the right, and I follow his line of sight, my breath catching in my throat when I see Carter.

Standing casually, his forearms braced against the top of the outfield fence, he claps his hands at Marco and nods in encouragement. He fits in naturally, easygoing and casual. It’s as if he’s always been a regular at Marco’s baseball games. Parents of Marco’s teammates stop by to say hello or shake Carter’s hand, the kids jump up and down and call out to him when they see him. Marco straight up beelines to Carter and fist bumps him. It’s as if Carter belongs here just as much as Marco does.

Cut-off sweat shorts ride low on his hips and a dark, grey T-shirt hugs his muscled chest and biceps. A navy baseball cap is pulled low, shading his eyes from the sun.

But the strange thing is, I can picture them. The bright green that glows almost like a cat.

A movement next to him grabs my attention, and I slide my gaze to the left to take in two more men. Jesus. These have to be Carter's brothers. It's almost unfair, for one family to be so freaking attractive. While Carter is all agility and smoothness, the guy standing next to him is all bulk and brawn. He's tough looking, hulking, with dark shades and a mysterious presence in opposition to Carter's light features and sunny disposition. His hair is pulled back in a messy bun at the back of his head, stray strands escaping and sticking to the side of his face and forehead with sweat. He's wearing a tight black tank, tattoos staining both of his arms from the tops of his shoulders to the base of his wrists. Still, there's a similarity between them in the shape of their faces, in the cut of their jaws. My eyes slide down, fastening on the third brother. He bears a much more similar resemble to Carter. Lighter hair, longer on top and cut close to his head on the sides. He's strong like his brothers, but his muscles seem honed; he's in shape in a way that lets you know he works out and eats well, takes care of himself. Clad in cargo shorts and a white T-shirt, he's reminiscent of an Abercrombie & Fitch advertisement. He claps his hands at the play taking place on the field and leans over to say something to his brothers. Carter and he laugh at whatever it is while the middle brother shifts his stance, his mouth set in a straight line.

I watch them for several more moments, my cheeks coloring when I realize Marco's calling my name.

I turn back to the dugout, and Marco waves to me. I wave back and he smirks, shooting me a knowing glance. I duck my head, totally embarrassed to be called out by an eleven-year-old kid. But what a smart eleven-year-old he is.

Marco's team is now at bat; he's second in the lineup. I sneak one more glance at Carter and involuntarily lean in his direction as he waves his brothers off to be quiet, his focus trained on Marco. I know I need to turn my attention back to the game, too, but something about Carter, the fluidity of his movements and the serious expression on his face, has my eyes glued to him. As if he senses someone staring, he turns his head toward me. Our eyes meet. The warmth that flickers in his irises quickly deepens into pleasure, and a wide smile cuts his mouth as he lifts a hand to me in greeting. The guy next to him looks over, too, and I watch as his eyes narrow in on me. The third brother grins, offering a small wave as if we've met before.

I wave back, way too enthusiastically, and feel my face flame from my obvious excitement at seeing him here.

What is wrong with me? It was one kiss; my heartrate shouldn’t accelerate just because he’s at the same baseball game as I am. Nerves shouldn’t prickle my skin at the thought of meeting his brothers. I shouldn’t be this invested in someone I’ve known for such a short amount of time, someone I’ve met under such bizarre circumstances.

Even as my mind runs through these logical points, my eyes cut to Carter and my breath freezes in my throat.

He’s just a guy.

A crazy, charming, stupidly intelligent, incredibly hot guy who looks at me as if he sees me.

He's a man who can cause me to free-fall into the unknown with one kiss that literally left me senseless.

And that's really dangerous.

Because deep down, I know men. I've known them my whole life, and they are all the same. At some point, I'll realize he wants me for something that has absolutely nothing to do with me. They always do. And if I let him in too deep, I'll be the one with more scars than I care to wear.

I lower my hand and turn back to the game. I need to stop daydreaming about Carter Kane and focus on Marco. On the Big Brothers and Sisters program. On my future. On finding an education program and applying to college again.

Still, I catch Carter's movement out of my peripheral vision as he cups his mouth to call out and cheer for Marco. I see the way Marco's smile widens, and he ducks his head sheepishly.

Damn it.

But Carter's one of the good ones. He has to be. No other guy has ever apologized to me as sincerely as Carter did. Not even Gunner, the one driving the car that night. No other guy has ever messaged to me to make sure I'm sleeping well and not pushing myself too hard. No other guy has ever shown me a shred of the respect that Carter does.

That has to mean something, right?

My heart swells at his attention and affection, even as an ever-present nagging thought reminds me that means he has the power to hurt me deeper than any other man has before.

I force myself to keep my eyes forward, locking my attention on Marco and his game. At the top of the seventh, his team is tied, and he's next at bat. He fidgets with the bat, his helmet already propped on his head; he's nervous.

Carter moves toward him, hanging onto the chain-link fence until he catches Marco’s attention.

Marco looks up expectantly, and I watch as he dips his head toward Carter, walking over to talk to him from the other side of the dugout, his face obscured by the helmet.

Carter leans down and speaks to him, Marco nodding in understanding. After a moment, Carter steps back, clapping a few times as Marco turns and heads to the plate. Two outs. He needs to get on base.

Curiosity burns me. I want to know what Carter said to Marco, but I'm too nervous to turn away from the game. To even blink.

Marco steps up to the plate and raises the bat over his right shoulder. The pitcher rubs his hand along his pants, wiping away the sweat. The sun beats down mercilessly as the entire bleachers train their eyes on Marco.

The first pitch whips by and Marco doesn't flinch.

"Strike!"

A few sighs and titters sound out.

The pitcher winds up and throws the next pitch. It's right down the center. Marco twists his body, stepping into the pitch, swinging his bat perfectly, and the bat connects with the ball, a loud crack reverberating throughout the bleachers as the ball sails out, out, out, and over the fence.

Oh, my God!

Marco drops his bat and takes off running to first base. His team cheers wildly from the dugout, their fingers clasping the fence as they bounce up and down with excitement. Marco rounds the bases and crosses home plate.

He raises a hand in the air as he walks back toward the dugout where his coach pats his helmet and smacks him on the back. His teammates pound his shoulders and wrap him into headlocks. People on the bleachers are standing and stomping and calling out his number. He drops his helmet, and I can see the pride and excitement and maybe even a little embarrassment blaze in his cheeks. He looks right at me, waving as I flash him a thumbs up sign. And then he turns toward Carter and the gratefulness striking his features is everything.

Carter beams at him, clapping hard, his eyes bright with pride and excitement.

I bite my bottom lip.

Carter just found his Ria. And his life is never going to be the same. Watching the way Carter regards Marco, seeing how Marco looks to Carter, causes my heart to swell. Carter’s one of the good guys.

He has to be.