“Sure, whatever you say.” She angles her body back toward the stands.
I’m not entirely sure what’s happening here. Maybe she’s not into me and I read that whole situation earlierwaywrong.
I step around so I’m facing her. “I’m Ryan Fletcher. Most people call me Fletcher or Fletch though,” I say, offering a friendly smile and my hand for her to shake. She looks down at the extended hand like she doesn’t know what she wants to do with it. “Most people would usually shake hands at this point,” I whisper to her out the corner of my mouth.
She gives me an irritated look but eventually uncrosses her arms. “Isa,” she offers before tentatively slipping her soft hand into mine. An electric shock jolts up my arm the second ourhands meet. I look down at where they’re joined and see how my hand dwarfs hers. I look up and see her wide-eyed gaze also focused on our hands. She tugs hers free and I immediately miss it.
“Isa is short for…” I trail off with a smile, the question implied.
The slight twitch in her lips tells me she’s trying not to smile. To hide that she finds me amusing. She rolls her eyes but answers me anyway, and I feel like I’ve won another MVP award. “Isabella. Isabella Rossi.”
Isabella Rossi. Evenher nameis beautiful.
“Well,Isabella Rossi, what are you doing after this? Can I take you out for dinner?” I give her my most charming smile in hopes it’ll melt some of her frosty exterior.
Her eyes widen, and I notice the moment she reinforces that exterior and slams the door in my face.
“I’m flattered, but no,” she says with a quick shake of her head. My entire body deflates with her rejection. Her eyes flick over my shoulder to the TV crew. “Sorry, but I need to get back to work.”
Strike one.
I rub my hand on the back of my neck, nervous suddenly. “Right, um, sorry for keeping you.” I start to back away before I stop. “Will I see you at the next game?” I can’t keep the hope from seeping into my voice. I want to see her again. Ineedto see her again.
She sighs but gives me a tentative nod. I try—really, I do—but it’s impossible to hold back the megawatt smile breaking out over my face.
“See you tomorrow then, Isa,” I say with a wink before I jog back to the dugout to collect my bag and head into the clubhouse for a long shower.
FOUR
THE ONE AND ONLY
ISABELLA
I’m ambushedthe second I walk through the door.
“How was it?” two voices overlap each other as Jordan and Liz shout the same question at me.
“Can’t you at least wait until I’m actually through the door before you begin the inquisition?”
“No.”
“Definitely not.”
“So, tell us!” Liz is practically vibrating, perched on the edge of the armchair. Her expression is entirely too eager to hear me recount a baseball game. “How was it? Was it as bad as you thought it would be?”
“Ugh, somehow it was worse,” I say as I kick off my shoes, hang my bag on the coatrack, and ditch my keys into the small dish on the entry table. I pad my way into the living room where they’re both gathered and let myself collapse into the cushions of the couch. “I swear that might have been the most boring thing I’ve ever had to sit through,” I whine.
“Oh, stop being so dramatic, that’s Liz’s job,” Jordan says as she chucks a throw pillow at my face.
“Hey!” Liz exclaims in mock protest. We both look at her with a single raised eyebrow, challenging her to refute the statement. She shrugs and sits back in her seat.
“Seriously though, it couldn’t have beenthatbad. Otherwise, people wouldn’t watch it,” Jordan says as she scoops her light brown hair into a ponytail before settling back into her seat.
I glare daggers in Jordan’s direction. “It was the slowest game I’ve ever watched?—”
“How many gameshaveyou watched?” Liz asks.
“Not the point! As I was saying, it was so slow. It was a whole lot of waiting around for something to happen. I mean that could be because the Suns absolutely murdered Minnesota. Like a final score of nine to zero, murder.”
