“Maybe here and there, but you were always in the back of my mind.” I reach out and link our hands together. “Don’t you want to see where this chemistry can lead?”
“No,” she answers and then looks up at me through her eyelashes. “Maybe.”
Hope springs in my chest from that one simple word.
Maybe.
There’s a goddamn chance, which means I can’t push her. I need to take today as a win and keep slowly gaining her trust.
“Okay, well, good to know.” I smile, release her hand, and pick up another éclair.
“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say? Good to know?”
“Yup.”
“What kind of game are you playing, Bisley?”
Game? The only person who would say that is someone insecure in relationships. And after the short conversation I had with her about her parents, I can guarantee you that question stems from the toxicity of the household she grew up in.
So I need to reassure her. She’s delicate, fragile, and having spent more time with her, I can see the baggage she carries on her shoulders. Slowly and surely, I need to gently lift that off so she can be free. So she can enjoy life and take part in a relationship—something I know she wants when I look her in the eyes.
Taking a chance, I lightly cup her cheek. Keeping her eyes locked on mine, I say, “Myla, I can guarantee you one thing, the only game I play is baseball. Nothing else.”
“How can I trust that?” she asks, her expression unsure.
“You’re just going to have to get to know me to understand. That will take some time, time I’m willing to put in.” I release her cheek and say, “Let’s pack these up, and I’ll walk you out.”
Ryot.Bisley.Balls: I feel comfortable telling you this. I’ve already eaten every éclair I took home.
DrinkWithMe: It’s been two hours.
Ryot.Bisley.Balls: I didn’t say I was proud of what I’ve done, just that I’m comfortable telling you.
DrinkWithMe: I would like to say I’m horrified by the volume of pastries you’ve consumed today, but I think your body needed it. Too many muscles.
Ryot.Bisley.Balls: I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone complain about too many muscles before. And how would you know . . . unless you were checking out my Instagram feed?
DrinkWithMe: The thirst traps might have caught my eye.
Ryot.Bisley.Balls: If you want, I can send you your own personal thirst traps—and not like a dick pic or anything.
DrinkWithMe: Why not? Send me a dick pic. Let me catch a glimpse of that peen.
Ryot.Bisley.Balls: I’ll send you a dick pic when you go out on a date with me.
DrinkWithMe: Is that a promise?
Ryot.Bisley.Balls: It could be. Let me think about it. I don’t think I’m quite ready to ask you out yet.
DrinkWithMe: Oh, I see. You have éclairs with me, and then you decide to play hard to get? Is that how this is going to work?
Ryot.Bisley.Balls: No, when I had éclairs with you, I saw that I might have a chance at taking you out. But I won’t pressure you. I’m trying to gain your trust first.
DrinkWithMe: And how do you plan on doing that?
Ryot.Bisley.Balls: You’ll see.
Ryot.Bisley.Balls: I want to send you something.
DrinkWithMe: Is it a stripper?
Ryot.Bisley.Balls: Do you like strippers?
DrinkWithMe: I’ve had positive experiences with both males and females. I love a good rack in my face and a bouncing willy. Will accept both.
Ryot.Bisley.Balls: I’ll put it on the list of things I can send you.
DrinkWithMe: Aren’t you a charmer?
Ryot.Bisley.Balls: But I do want to send you something, so I’m going to need an address.
DrinkWithMe: Hmm, not sure if you’ve earned it. Why don’t I just meet you at a neutral location, and you can hand it to me there?
Ryot.Bisley.Balls: I would love to hand deliver it, but unfortunately, I’m in Miami right now.
DrinkWithMe: Playing the baseball?
Ryot.Bisley.Balls: Yes, playing *the* baseball. I have a game tonight.
DrinkWithMe: Think you’re going to win?
Ryot.Bisley.Balls: Well, being that we’re the number-one team in the country, I would say yes.
DrinkWithMe: Wait, really?
Ryot.Bisley.Balls: You really have no clue, do you?
DrinkWithMe: No clue about what? I don’t follow sports, never been into them. I guess I don’t have a clue about anything.
Ryot.Bisley.Balls: So you don’t know that you’re talking to the guy with the second-best batting average in the country as well?
DrinkWithMe: What’s a batting average? Is that a sexual innuendo?
Ryot.Bisley.Balls: Christ. Just send me your address.
DrinkWithMe: I got a special delivery today.
Ryot.Bisley.Balls: And . . .
DrinkWithMe: Am I supposed to sleep with this?
Ryot.Bisley.Balls: Do you want to sleep with it?
DrinkWithMe: The nylon fabric does bring back old memories.
Ryot.Bisley.Balls: Well, I did send it to entice you.
DrinkWithMe: How is a Chicago Bobbies flag supposed to entice me?
Ryot.Bisley.Balls: A few ways. For one, it could remind you of how we first met.
DrinkWithMe: Nostalgia accomplished.
Ryot.Bisley.Balls: You could use it as a symbol of me and wrap it around yourself when you’re missing me.
DrinkWithMe: Not quite missing you just yet, but maybe in the future. Continue.
Ryot.Bisley.Balls: And it gets cold in Chicago, so it could be an extra layer for those wintry days.
DrinkWithMe: I do find that appealing.
Ryot.Bisley.Balls: And finally, you could hang it up in your room, so whenever you look at it, you think of me, the guy with the second-best batting average in the country.
DrinkWithMe: Hmm, sounds interesting. If only you had sent Velcro with it . . .
Ryot.Bisley.Balls: Did you look in the package? It’s there.
DrinkWithMe: Okay . . . I think you might have gotten me with the Velcro.
Ryot.Bisley.Balls: You’re an odd one to please.
DrinkWithMe: So there’s a billboard of you outside the restaurant I work at. Did you have them put it there on purpose? Also, your pants are tight. Very tight . . . that’s a supreme rear end you have there, Bisley.
Ryot.Bisley.Balls: If I knew where you worked, then I would have asked them to put up three billboards, but fortunately for me, this was all by chance. Also, thank you for the butt compliment. I do a lot of squats.
DrinkWithMe: It shows.
Ryot.Bisley.Balls: I’m just going to act like your compliments don’t faze me at all, even though I’m screaming inside.
DrinkWithMe: Why do I feel like more of the masculine one in this non-relationship?
Ryot.Bisley.Balls: Non-relationship? Is that what we’re calling this?
DrinkWithMe: I think it has a nice ring to it. We’re not friends, really . . . because frankly, if something were to ever occur between you and me, I don’t want to be a friends-to-lovers cliché. And we’re clearly not in a relationship, so . . . non-relationship it is.
Ryot.Bisley.Balls: What’s wrong with friends to lovers? Some of the best love affairs start as friends.
DrinkWithMe: Name one.
Ryot.Bisley.Balls: Uh, I don’t know . . . The Hangover.