FIFTEEN
WANNA BET?
ISABELLA
The doorto Ryan’s place swings open before I even get the chance to knock.
“Come in, come in,” he rushes out, waving me in and shutting the door behind me.
I kick my shoes off by the door and let my eyes drift over the space. We may have been friends for nearly a month at this point, but it’s my first time at his place. We’ve never crossed the imaginary line that involved going over to each other’s homes. It’s a step too far. Asking for trouble. And if I want to be completely honest, I don’t know if I can fully trust myself to keep this friendly. Something is changing in our friendship, and I can’t quite put my finger on it. But I think it’s me. I’m changing. Tonight’s incident aside, I don’t dread going to work anymore. Dare I say, I actually look forward to games now? And it’s entirely his fault. I still don’t quite follow the games, but I pay attention to him. Only him. It’s like there’s nobody else on the team.
His place is so very him. It’s clean, but not compulsively tidy. It’s a lived in type of clean. There’s a throw blanket haphazardlystrewn across the large sofa that’s placed opposite an obscenely large, wall-mounted flat-screen.All the better to watch baseball highlights on I suppose.His kitchen nearly brings tears to my eyes. Much like the rest of his apartment, it’s massive. Light gray cabinets lining the walls with bright white granite countertops, it’s the kitchen of my dreams. And it’s pristine.Toopristine.
“Do you even cook in here?” I ask, looking back to where he stands by the front door.
He shifts on his feet and rubs a hand along the back of his neck. “Sometimes.” I raise an eyebrow, calling bullshit. His counters are much too white to be something he uses regularly. He rolls his eyes and cracks a soft smile. The one I only ever catch him giving me. “Okay, not all that often.” I start to laugh but he raises his voice, talking over the sound. “I use it more during the offseason! It’s hard to keep up with cooking for myself during the season.”
I hum in agreement as I walk through the space, trailing a finger along the chilled counters. The living room, dining room, and kitchen are part of one large open concept space with a hallway down one side and a door on the other, that I assume leads to his room. The back wall of the living room is made up entirely of floor to ceiling windows which give a breathtaking view of the town and even further in the distance is downtown LA. It’s almost magical the way the lights twinkle in the dusk light.
“Wow, this view is incredible,” I say softly, as if my voice would disrupt the image before me if it was much louder.
“Yeah, it really is,” he replies in a voice as soft and awe filled as my own. I cast a glance over my shoulder and find him at the counter, a bowl in his hands, looking back at me standing in front of the windows, that smile that’s only mine on his face. After a heartbeat, he blinks quickly and clears his throat. “It’spart of what sold me on this place.” He crosses the rooms to where I stand to pass me the bowl, filled with popcorn.
I’m not sure what just happened but there’s a weight that hangs in the room now.
Taking the bowl from his hand, I plop myself down onto the couch and attempt to cut through the tension that’s built. “So, what should we watch?”
“Oh, I know just the thing,” he says as he plucks the remote off the coffee table and falls back into the cushions on the opposite end.
“Wait, really? I don’t even get a say?” I ask, flabbergasted.
He turns toward me and cocks an eyebrow. “You asked me what we should watch.”
“Yeah, well I was being polite and asking your opinion! Not for you to choose the whole damn movie. You were supposed to go”—I pitch my voice low to imitate his—“‘oh, I don’t know Isa. What are you thinking?’ And then I would’ve said ‘gee, thanks for asking, Ryan. Maybe a good ol’ fashioned comedy.’ It’s called having manners!”
Amusement twinkles in his eyes and his lips twitch, a sign that he’s holding back a smile. “Well, I guess I don’t have any manners then because I already picked it. And you’re going to love it.”
“Oh, is that right?” I raise an eyebrow in challenge.
“That’s right,” he says with a confident smirk before turning back to the TV and clicking into his streaming services.
I lean back, crossing my arms over my chest. “Alright, if I’m going to love it so much, then what are we watching?”
“A League of Their Own.”
My brows furrow as I think. “Never heard of it.”
He scoffs. “Of course you haven’t. It’s a baseball movie.” He looks over quickly to shoot a wink in my direction.
I crinkle my nose in distaste. “Abaseball movie? You really think I’m going to love a baseball movie? Do you even know me at all?”
“Oh, I know you will. I’m even willing to bet on it.”
That brings a devious grin to my face. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” he says with a confident smile.
“Fine. If you’re so certain I’ll love it, what do I get when I hate it?” I ask, certain I’ll be the one to win this bet.
