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As I watch her push through the turnstile, it dawns on me that I didn’t refute the fact there’d be a next time.
‘That was worse than a slow and painful death. Just so you know.’ I breathe the infinitely less stuffy air as we follow the crowd up the steps to exit the subway.
Becky nudges her shoulder into my arm. ‘Oh, come on. It wasn’t so bad.’
‘You’re right. I especially enjoyed the five-hundred-pound sloth who put his sweaty paws all over me for the last five stops.’
She laughs, and I think I might write a list of things I could say that would let me hear that sound. ‘Right, tour guide, where do we find these infamous hot dogs?’
‘This way.’ My hand is wrapped around hers and I’m moving us through the crowd before I comprehend what I’ve done. Thing is… it feels… nice. Her petite fingers. Her gentle grip.
I don’t move my hand from hers until we’re through the crowd and at the back of the line for the hot dog stand. When I finally let go, she looks from my hand to hers, then lifts her gaze to mine. Something so intense, charged even, passes between us that I have to drag air into my lungs, desperate to feed my mind.
‘Listen, Becky, I need to be straight with you.’ I look away and into the crowd, buzzing happily with either pre-game excitement, or because they have the afternoon off work. It helps calm the rate of my blood pulsing through my veins enough that I can look back at her. ‘This… us… it’s not going to become a thing. I have too much going on. And, honestly, I’m just not the kind of guy who does relationships.’
Her eye visibly open wider and she pulls her head back. ‘Relationships?’ Her face contorts, and I instantly panic. She’s going to cry. Shit. Then she bends from her waist and laughs. ‘Crikey, Drew, did you think I was going to jump your bones for bringing me to a baseball game? I didn’t move to New York searching for love. Quite the opposite, believe me.’
Whether it’s the fact that I deservedly feel like an idiot or that she sounds like the Queen of England when she says, ‘Quite the opposite,’ I find my lips curling up.
She places her hand on my shoulder. ‘Plus, you’re kind of an arrogant arse. That’s not exactly my type.’
Now my smile is gone as I stare at her back. I fold my arms, annoyed and, yes, offended. But then, I am ‘an arrogant arse’, as she politely puts it. So why am I so irritated? And what did she mean by ‘quite the opposite’? What are you running from, British Becky?
When we reach the front of the line, I order two hot dogs.
‘Anything else?’ the guy asks.
‘Chips, please,’ Becky says.
The server asks her what flavor chips she would like. Becky’s look in response is completely perplexed.
‘She means fries,’ I tell him.
‘Gotcha.’
‘Darn, I forget that every time,’ Becky tells me.
I take hold of our food as Becky pays. I still can’t believe I forgot my wallet. We eat and walk, which is Becky’s idea, but clearly she hasn’t thought this through. Eating a hot dog and walking is not an easy feat.
But it seems I’ll have to stand corrected as Becky wraps her mouth around the hot dog and eats the whole thing in three bites. I gape, somewhere between disgusted and awed.
‘You got enough in there?’
When she’s done laughing, she accepts the napkin I hand her and wipes mustard from the side of her mouth. ‘You’d be amazed how much I can fit in here.’
For a moment, I can do nothing but stare at those damn perfect lips and talk my member back into its cage. Then she winks, knowing full well she sent my mind to the gutter. ‘Come on, I don’t want to miss the game.’
‘Your banter leaves a lot to be desired, Cupcake.’ I subtly adjust my jeans as I follow behind her, deciding I’ll eat my food when we reach our seats.
She follows me up concrete steps toward our seats. When she finally turns to take in the view of the stadium, her eyes sparkle, her jaw loosens, and she sighs, as if being here is some kind of accomplishment. She looks happy. Content. Alluring. Watching her could become a new guilty pleasure of mine. Who am I kidding; it already has.
The game is starting as we make our way past a row of people and take our seats. The Yankees pitcher is announced over the PA system. I’m trying my damndest to watch the game instead of thinking about the press of Becky’s thigh against mine. But she blows my concentration when she leans in to my ear and I catch that sweet scent I’ve come to know, then her hot breath comes with her words, caressing my neck.
I swallow hard.
I’m starting to think maybe I should just take her to bed. Get this over and done with. Then walk away.
‘What’s that thing they say inTop Gun?’
