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Shivering, she automatically rubbed her hands up and down her arms in an effort to warm up. Earlier in the day it had been warm, but now that the sun had gone down and a breeze had picked up, the temperature had dropped several degrees. Callie wished she’d thought to bring a sweatshirt along.
From the corner of her eye, she noticed Dylan remove the unbuttoned long-sleeved denim shirt he wore over his t-shirt. “Here, put this on.”
Accepting the shirt, she asked, “What about you?”
“I’m fine. Don’t worry.”
Grateful, Callie slipped the shirt on. The fabric was still warm from his body. The heat felt heavenly against her skin. She couldn’t help but sigh in pleasure.
“Better?”
“Much. Thanks.” The shirt enveloped her. The slightest scent of some pricey cologne or aftershave clung to the fabric, and she felt as if he was embracing her.
Now that’s a stupid thought. It’s just a shirt.
Touching her arm, Dylan nodded in the direction of the scoreboard. “Told you the Sox couldn’t win with Roberts pitching tonight.”
“It isn’t over yet.” Callie narrowed her eyes at him. “They’re only down by three runs, and there are still two and a half innings to play.”
He shrugged and gave her a boyish, lopsided smile. “Does the Girl Scout care to make a little wager?”
She wasn’t usually a betting person. She didn’t even buy lottery tickets, but what the heck. “Okay, Mr. CEO, you’re on.”
“If your beloved Sox manage to pull off a win, you get to pick what we do tomorrow.” Dylan’s doubt that the Sox could win was evident in his voice. “But if they don’t, I get to choose.”
What we do tomorrow? As far as wages went, this one was a win-win for her. Still, she hesitated for the briefest of seconds. He’d never mentioned getting together on Sunday. Not that she had any plans, but didn’t he have more interesting things to do than spend time with her?
“You’re on,” she replied, ignoring the questions swirling in her head. She could figure them out later when she was alone. Right now, she just wanted to have a little fun and enjoy what she was starting to think of as a date with the man next to her.
It hadn’t been her intention. Ever since they made plans to attend the game, she’d been telling herself it was just a night out with a friend. She had a few guy friends who she hung out with from time to time. Right now though, cocooned in his shirt with his arm draped over her shoulders, the word date blazed in her mind like a neon sign.
A date with Dylan Talbot. Never in a million years would she have imagined it. And another date with him tomorrow. Somewhat oblivious to the game on the field, Callie thought, What am I getting myself into? Trouble. Big. Time. Trouble.
On the field, the Red Sox batter smashed a two-run homer over the Green Monster, sending the crowd to its feet. The deafening noise drew Callie back to the stadium.
“Told you it wasn’t over yet. Now we’re only down by one run.”
Dylan leaned closer to whisper in her ear, his breath caressing her skin. “It was a lucky shot, but it doesn’t matter. Even if the Yankees don’t win, I still do.”
Callie wasn’t sure what to make of his statement. It was pretty much exactly what she’d been thinking when he proposed the wager. “I see you know when to jump off a sinking ship.” It was easier to joke and make light of the situation than overthink every one of his words or actions. If she did that, Callie knew she would drive herself crazy.
***
The drive back to her apartment was quiet, but not uncomfortably so. Dylan found he liked it. Most of the women he dated found it necessary to fill any silence with endless chatter. Then again, he couldn’t picture many of the women he took out wanting to spend the night at a baseball game. Sure, some may have gone, but not because they enjoyed the sport. Rather, because they wanted to be with him. Or maybe a better way of putting it was they wanted to be with rich CEO Dylan Talbot, not the man himself.
He’d known Callie was different from their very first meeting. The time he’d spent with her since only reinforced his opinion.
“Any interest in stopping for ice cream?” They’d pulled off the highway and he could see a brightly lit ice cream stand up ahead.
“I’ve got plenty at home we can eat. It’s always been a weakness of mine. That and licorice. I’ll take that over chocolate any day,” she admitted.
Anyone else and Dylan would assume she was inviting him back for more than just ice cream, but not her. Still, that didn’t stop the image of her lying naked in bed, mahogany colored hair spread out on a pillow, from popping into his head.
Don’t. Go. There. Dylan gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white.
“That was one hell of a game,” he said, hoping a conversation about baseball would get his mind and body back under control and out of the bedroom.
“Cosgrove’s play in the eighth was incredible. I don’t think the Sox would’ve pulled off the win without it.”
