Page 82 of The Path to Loving Him
“Sure,” I say. “Sounds great.”
“Great,” he says with a smile and then takes a bite of his sandwich.
I’m hustling.
I’m hustling so fast that if a teacher saw me right now, they’d yell at me to slow down and tell me no running in the hallway, but I have a point to prove. If Ryland’s going to play games, so am I.
My bag clutched to my chest, my legs burn with exertion as I make my way to the athletics department and straight to the baseball office, an office I have a key to.
Please don’t let him be in here. Please don’t let him be in here.
I walk up to the door, test the handle, and when it’s locked, I inwardly shout ahuzzahbecause this plan is going to work.
I quickly unlock the door and let myself in.
I flick on the lights, and I’m immediately met with a view of all the school’s athletic fields. God, that’s a great view. No wonder he’s butt hurt over losing this office.
I don’t have time to examine the surroundings, though. I quickly make work of setting my things up. Lucky for me, he hasnothing personal in here. A blank desk and a shelf full of baseball books, but that’s about it. Not even a fake plant or a picture of Mac.
I reach into my bag and start . . . decorating.
A lamp, two fake plants, pen holder, yellow clipboard, a few pictures of me and Bennett, a Rebels pennant, along with a picture of Jason Orson next to it, because . . . well, I might as well dig the hole deeper while I’m at it. And then a few other memorabilia items. I don’t have much time to think about where to place everything. I scatter them around on the available surface and then sit in his chair and prop my feet up on his desk just as I hear the sound of keys attempting to unlock a door that’s already unlocked.
This is it.
Be strong.
The door opens, and a confused Ryland is on the other side, but he’s only confused for a few seconds before he spots me.
“Took you long enough,” I say as I lower my legs and place my hands on the mahogany wood of the desk.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he asks as he shuts the door to the office . . . and locks it.
“Well, I assumed when you said meet you in your office, you meant mine. Mistakes will happen. You’ll get used to it, though. Next time, we can meet in yours if you want. That would be the broom closet, right?” I shrug. “Eh, this one is bigger. Maybe we should just conduct all business here.”
“This is not your office,” he says.
I hold up my keys and jingle them. “These tell me differently.”
He puffs out an irritated steam through his nostrils. “I’m not going to fuck around with you about this. They’re finding you a new office. This is mine, so gather up your shit and get the hell out of my chair.”
“Hmm, well, I never heard anything, and until I hear from David, I’m just going to remain put. So”—I gesture to the seat in front of me—“what did you want to talk about?”
He crosses his arms over his barrel of a chest and says, “Is this really what you want to do? Piss me off?”
“Oh please, you’ve been pissed since we fucked the other night. Hence the list of crap you gave me to do. Or the fact that you haven’t introduced me to the team yet. Or how you haven’t talked to me in a few days.”
“You miss me?” he asks, a smug look on his face.
“Did it look like I missed you when I was talking to Christian?”
Okay, low blow, but fighting fire with fire here.
That makes his eyes narrow as he moves in close and takes a seat on the edge of the desk. “Don’t even think about it.”
“Think about what?” I ask.
“Think about anything with him.”
