“Wooden.”
“Excuse me?”
“The bats. They’re wooden,” he explains.
“Really? I always thought they were metal. In fact, I’m almost positive the little leagues my brother played for used metal bats.”
“They probably did, but the MLB uses wooden bats.”
“Huh,” I say, truly dumbfounded, but I shake off any further thoughts on the matter. “That’s not the point! I cannot afford to go out and buy a new car right now. I need this one to pull through for a few more months until I get my promotion and then I will go full-on ‘treat yo self’ and replace it.” He rolls his eyes at me, but I can see the smirk on his face. Next thing I know, he’s holding his hand out in front of my face. “What am I supposed to do with this?” I ask, gaze bouncing between his eyes and hand.
“Take it.”
“Why?”
“I’m giving you a ride home.”
I scoff. “No, you’re not.”The audacity of this man.
“Yes. I am.” His voice is stern.
“I’m going to order an Uber,” I say, already digging into my pocket to remove my phone.
“With post-game traffic, the surge pricing will be through the roof. Take my hand.” He pushes his hand further into my space in emphasis.
“No,” I say, metaphorically putting my foot down, and pulling up the Uber app on my phone.
Annnnd he’s right. The surge pricing is indeed ‘through the roof’ and getting home would easily cost me the same as a week’s worth of groceries. If I wasn’t so exhausted and starving, I would be stubborn enough to wait out the surge pricing, but I’m unfortunately not strong enough to resist. I let out a resigned sigh, knowing what I have to do.
And clearly so does Fletcher, who pushes his hand further into my field of vision.
“Fine,” I concede, reaching across the console to grab my bag. “Let’s go, but I’m picking the music,” I argue.
“Fine by me,” he says with a bright grin as he turns on his heel and stalks off toward his car.
I scramble to get out, hitting lock and jogging to catch up with him. “Stronzo,” I mutter under my breath.
“What’s that?” he asks with a lift of his brow.
“Huh? Oh, nothing. Just… cursing my car still.”
Yep. Cursing the car. Definitely not calling you an asshole behind your back. I wouldnever.
“Mhm, okay. So, where do you live?”
“Not too far from here, actually. Over in Pasadena.” Which I was grateful for when I was put on this assignment. No one wants to deal with LA traffic, and if I don’t have to trek down into the city for work, I’m a happy camper.
“Oh, sweet. I’m actually heading that way anyway.”
“Oh, really?” I ask, my voice dripping with skepticism.
“Yes,really,” he argues. “I’ve got an apartment over in Glendale.”
“Oh.” I feel heat creep up my cheeks in embarrassment. Thankfully it’s dark enough even with the parking lot floodlights that he can’t tell. I hope. “I thought you’d live out in Calabasas or Malibu.”
He looks over at me with a massive smile. “Oh, I’ve got a beach house out in Malibu too.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course you do.”
