Page 114 of Fifty First Times (Sharing You 0.40)
“Everything okay? Do you need a ride?”
There’s no sexual inflection in the question, even though it’s an obvious opportunity most guys would take. “It’s just a dead battery. I’m fine.”
“So someone’s coming to get you?”
I bite down on my lip. I hate lying. “I’ll find a ride.”
He looks around the near empty parking lot. “Jumbo’s going to be here for a while. Sometimes he stays over, and we leave early for a three-day road trip tomorrow. Do you have anyone to call?”
I sigh and hold up my dead cell.
Ben takes off his baseball cap and runs his hand through his hair. It sticks up in fifteen different directions, making him look younger than twenty-one. “Let me take you home.”
“I said I’ll be fine.”
“Please? My mama would kill me if she knew I’d left a lady in a parking lot.”
“Your mama?” I laugh, and then laugh again. “Your mama. Am I supposed to make a joke now? Like, your mama’s so fat she sued Xbox 360 for guessing her weight?”
“Actually my mother is a very trim retired kindergarten teacher who volunteers part-time at a homeless shelter.”
The laugh dies in my throat. “My mom’s a pasty alcoholic who’s currently out on probation.”
What the hell? Why did I say that? He makes me nervous. So nervous I let my guard down and say things.
“I can’t imagine that’s been easy for you.” His expression throws off pity, but it’s missing the undercurrent of disgust I get from most people.
“No, it hasn’t.”
Wisely, he doesn’t press, just holds up his phone. “You can use this, if you want.”
“Thank you.” I step out of the car. I’m five-eleven, but he’s a solid six-two. It’s nice to stand beside a guy taller than me. Too bad it’s him. I take his phone, careful not to touch his hand, and press the on button.
And realize I have no one to call.
My heartbeat goes frantic as I mentally scan my contacts list. Ernie left for a weekend at the beach right after the game. My roommates would be at any of ten bars within walking distance of our apartment, and none of them sober enough to come and get me. I make a quick decision and dial information, regardless of the fact that I don’t have a key.
“I need the number for Karroll’s Cab—”
The phone is out of my hand before I can finish the sentence.
“Really, Liza? You’d call a cab service before you’d let me take you home? What did I do to you?” he asks. “To make you dislike me so much?”
“It’s not you.” When I gather up the nerve to look at him, I see the hurt in his green eyes. “It’s players in general.”
“Don’t lump me into a category.”
He sounds like Ernie, which reminds me of my resolve.
“I’ve been around baseball since I could walk. I know how every single one of you works. The games you play, the expectations you have, and how when you leave here, you’re walking away for good.”
He looks taken aback at the statement, and I know he doesn’t understand where my anger comes from. I feel bad for dishing out vitriol.
“How can you be so certain?” he asks. “From the rumors around the clubhouse, you’ve never even looked at a player sideways, much less dated one.”
I don’t feel bad anymore. “Chalk it up to experience.”
“Chalk up this. I’m taking you home, and I’ll make sure you get inside safely before I leave. You can make every ‘your mama’ joke there is, but she taught me well.”
