Reaching Rose (Hunter Hill University Book 3) by J.P. Grider

college."
    Once again, a brighter peachy pink colors her ivory cheeks, making them look like she's been in the sun. I like watching her blush. "I'm a senior, well, supposed to be a senior, in college, this year."
    "Now that , I wasn't expecting. You look younger than a senior."
    "Thank you? Maybe?" She smiles.
    "It's a compliment," I assure her. "You're an older woman. I like that."
    "Older?"
    "I'm a junior. I'm twenty-one. Well, on November first, I'll be twenty-two."
    "I'm twenty-two. Won't be twenty-three until March."
    "So you're not too much older. Can I ask what you're studying?"
    "Education. And," she looks down, hesitant, "and...dance."
    She's a dancer.
    With one leg.
    Now I get it.
    I don't want to say, "I'm sorry." That may make her feel bad. So, instead, I ask, "Elementary or secondary?"
    "Elementary."
    "Good choice. Little children are less evil."
    "I don't know about that," she jokes, and I'm starting to get a glimpse of the real Rose. "What do you study?"
    "Sports psychology."
    "Oh. You're a baseball player. Makes sense."
    "Can't play ball forever, right?" I hope that wasn't the wrong thing to say.
    "Nope. Guess not. There's an age limit in Major League Baseball, right?"
    I relax. She doesn't seem to be getting offended or teary or anything. "Pretty much. Once you've hit your late thirties, you're pretty much done. Although, Jamie Moyer pitched until he was forty-six, so..."
    "Forty-six. Wow."
    "But that's not the norm, so sports psychology is my back-up."
    "You're pretty sure you're making the Majors, huh?" she asks quietly.
    I shrug. "Not positive. No. I've been scouted though, so it's looking good. I'm not full of myself or anything, please don't get the wrong idea, it's just...well, it's all I really wanted most of my life."
    She nods. "I get it," she says quietly.
    "I realize things can change." I feel like shit right now. The last thing I want to do is bring her down now that she's finally smiling a little.
    "So, you'll be Dr. Falco, the sports psychologist?"
    I laugh, partly from relief from the ball-playing thing, partly...no, just relief. I'm relieved she's changed the subject. "Or just Ben. By the way, how'd you know my last name?"
    "I heard the guy say it this morning."
    "Ah. What's your last name?"
    "Duncan."
    "Rose Duncan. Nice."
    "Actually, it's Rosalie. But everyone just calls me Rose."
    "Rosalie's a pretty name."
    "Thanks. It's okay...Benito."
    "Are you making fun of my name?"
    She shakes her head, but smiles. "No."
    "You're in a good mood tonight."
    She shrugs. "Faking it."
    "Really?"
    "I don't know. My friend came to see me today, so..." She fiddles with her fingers, and I notice she still hasn't clenched them all night.
    "And you were happy to see her? Him?"
    "Her. Holly."
    "Holly. Really? I have a friend named Holly. That's who I was texting when you came in."
    "Yeah? Can't be my Holly, she doesn't know any Bens."
    This makes me laugh for real. "Oh. You know every person your friend knows?" I ask jokingly.
    "Well, in the past three years I've known her, she's never mentioned anyone by the name of..." She pauses, her face scrunched up in thought. After several seconds, she says, "Wait a minute. Ben. Psychology. Did you take a psychology class this summer?"
    Shit. "I did. Hunter Hill?"
    "Oh my God. Are you...a ‘nice’ guy?" she says with quotes. "Like ‘apple-pie’ nice?"
    I crack up. Slap my thigh and laugh out loud. "Holy shit. Holly. Yup." I shake my head at the reference of apple pie. Holly always thought of me as the all-American boy. "Gotta be the same Holly."
    "Holly Buchanan?" we both say at the same time.
    "Oh my gosh, she was just here. She didn't say...does she know you're here?"
    I shake my head. "No. She knows I had surgery. Knows I'm recovering. She doesn't know I'm here though."
    "Wow," she says, still fiddling with her fingers. "So you guys met in psych class?"
    "Yeah. Actually, we met online during registration."
    "Oh. I think her text said something like that. Back in