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“I need a ride,” he said in his low voice.
What was I? Driving Miss Daisy?
“Could you give me one?” he asked.
Was this real life? Was this really happening? “You wantmeto give you a ride again?”
To give him credit, he didn’t break eye contact once. “It would be appreciated.”
It would be appreciated.My eyes almost crossed in response. “I have to get to work,” I told him in a calm voice because it was the truth. Sure I was meeting Marc at a house about a mile away from Kulti’s, but he didn’t know that. Also it wasn’t like spending one-on-one time with an ungrateful jerk was at the top of my list of things I wanted to do.
The look he gave me in response said that he didn’t exactly believe me. At all. For one second, I felt guilty for lying. Then I remembered how I’d tried being friendly with him time and time again and for what? To get snapped at? I didn’t owe him a thing.
The corners of his mouth tightened and a noticeable deep breath made its way out of lungs that used to carry him across the length of a full-sized soccer field effortlessly. The “please” caught me totally off-guard.
I faltered. For one split second I faltered, and then I found myself again and reached for the door handle. My attention stayed forward. I almost said I was sorry, but that would be a lie. “I’m sure just about anyone would give you a ride if you asked nicely.”
A hand that wasn’t my own pressed down on my window, long fingers with short fingernails extended wide, his palm as big as I remembered from our handshake. “I’m asking you.”
“And I’m not the only person that can give you one. I need to get to work.” I jerked the handle, but the door didn’t budge. At all.
“Casillas.”
Holy shit. My name came out of his—
Poop.
I glanced at him over my shoulder; this wasn’t a big deal. So he’d said my name when I didn’t think another player’s name had crossed his lips… hell. Ever?
“I would appreciate it,” his deep voice insisted.
I didn’t say a word, I just jerked on the handle again.
His forearm flexed as he held my door down. “I can pay you,” he offered, casually.
The hell?
No one in my life had ever offered to give me money for doing them a favor, because it wasn’t necessary. Here was a person who made more money retired than I would in a decade. He had a freaking driver yet, he wanted to pay me to give him a ride.
Ugh.
What was I doing? I might feel like a badass right now telling him that I wouldn’t take him home, or wherever he was going, but later on there was no doubt I’d feel like an asshole for not doing a favor that was easily within my reach. I didn’t want to be that person who was an asshole just to be an asshole; it wouldn’t make me any better than this jerk-off.
I fought the urge to tip my head back and groan; instead I let out a resigned sigh and waved him on. “I’ll take you.”
Kulti blinked and then quickly nodded, getting in. Wordlessly, I pulled out of the lot and made my way in same direction we’d gone on Friday.
“Same place?” I asked with only the slightest hint of an attitude in my tone as I pulled onto the freeway.
“Yes” was his solitary answer.
All right. This time I did turn on the radio, and I drove quietly to the same house in the same family neighborhood I’d just been in.
Just as I was pulling over he started shifting in his seat, and I glanced over to see him pulling a slim black wallet out.
Jesus. I pulled over to the curb in front of the square white stone home. “Don’t.”
His silence was deafening as he sat there, duffel on his lap, one hand on the car door, and the other holding a slim coffee-colored leather wallet.
