Page 21 of Challenge Me

He ran his fingers over the top of his desk absently. “I don’t know. That pool table could make me a pretty penny.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Doubtful.”

Bringing his hands up, he dragged them apart as if he was framing the sky, with all the dramatic flourish of a salesman unveiling his next big hit. “Imagine it. ‘Own a piece of history: the holy splatter of America’s pastime.’” When I didn’t respond, he hummed. “‘A collector’s dream: the blessed glaze of Fenway’s finest. Reserve price negotiable.’”

This was pointless. He didn’t know how to be serious, or he didn’t care to.

Turning around, I threw open the door.

“‘The Big-League batter’s batter?’” he called after me.

I was about to put my glasses and hood back on, but it was too late. Clara was behind the bar, and as my recent luck would have it, she spotted me. Her lips twisted into a grin as she started toward me. With a swear, I backed up, running right into Remi. I shoved him backward and slammed the office door with both of us inside.

“Excuse me,” he said, sounding offended.

“Shh.”

“You don’t know this, but I don’t do well with being trapped.”

“I don’t fucking care,” I growled, listening for footsteps outside.

Remi pushed me to the side and reached for the door.

“Please,” I whispered.

He glanced over at me. “Why should I help you?”

“Why shouldn’t you?” When he didn’t answer, I sighed. “It doesn’t matter, I guess. She saw me. That’s just another story, even if she doesn’t get to ask her questions. No doubt she’ll follow me to my car with her goddamn cameras. I’m already trapped in her web.”

“Then take control of it.”

“How?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Spin your own web. Be unashamed. There are worse people to be caught with than this shirtless drifter.”

A small laugh left my lips. “She’ll probably follow me to Florida. I won’t be able to shit without her watching me.”

“Florida?”

“Spring training.”

It was silent, so I looked over at him. He chewed on his lip, right beside his piercing. When he met my eyes, there was something there that sparked my curiosity.

“Bring me with you,” he said.

“Why the hell would I do that?”

“Clearly, you don’t want to be painted as a closet gay with a hit-it-and-quit-it persona. She outed you, but that doesn’t mean you have to let her story be the only one.”

“I still don’t see what taking you to Florida will do.”

“Instead of fucking a random at a bar, you were visiting your boyfriend, a successful and, dare I say, sexy business owner.”

“Boyfriend,” I repeated warily.

“I’m really not sure how much clearer I can make this.”

“I don’t want to date you.”