Page 115 of Fifty First Times (Sharing You 0.40)
“I see.”
“Get in the car.” He points.
“You can’t take me home.”
“Damn it, Liza—”
“I mean my roommate has my key. Just drop me off at Five Points.” Our apartment was strategically located near all the best bars in town, and they all were within half a mile of Five Points. “I can find her and get the key. I’ll be fine to walk home from wherever I find her.”
He opens the car door. “I’ll help you find Rosie and then make sure you both get home.”
“You know my roommate’s name?”
“I know everything about you that’s worth knowing.”
Ben
I HAD THE air conditioning on at first, thanks to summer humidity, but the cotton candy smell of her is so close, I ask if I can put down the windows.
She’s wearing jean shorts and a tank top. Cherry red again, same as the sweater she had on the day I met her.
“You remember what I had on?”
“I said that out loud?” Damn. “Red’s my favorite color. It looks really good on you. Because of your dark hair and eyes. It’s cheerful. I like . . . cheer.”
She bites her lip and barely suppresses a laugh. “You’re weird.”
“It’s your fault.” There’s no point in acting cool with her.
“I’m sorry?”
“I notice you. You know it. You’ve known it since March when the team reported.” I blow out a breath and take a right onto Franklin Avenue. “I also know that you’d rather a guy be interested in your brain than your body, and you know that I know it.”
“There’s a lot of knowing in this conversation.”
“Am I wrong?”
“No.”
I grin at the word play. Sneak a look and see that she’s grinning, too.
And ignore the tug of hope that pulls in my stomach.
“It’s not like we haven’t spent time together.” I fiddle with the volume on the stereo, turn it down. I want to hear her voice, undiluted.
“For work things,” she argues.
Youth camps. Public appearances. Pre-game dinners. The Fourth of July parade. It had rained that day, and she’d scooped her hair up into a baseball cap. I’d been sorely tempted to snatch it and run off, but she wasn’t the kind of girl to respond to playful flirting. Most likely she’d have punched me in the junk.
“A lot of work things,” I remind her. And more than a few times she let down her guard with me. “Enough for you to manage to deliver a diatribe on reality television, give me your opinion on the future of trance music, and dissect the entire health care system.”
Her chin drops slightly. “You remember that? You were actually listening?”
“I always listen to you.”
She crosses her arms and stares out the car window. I let her off the hook. For now.
Five Points is packed by the time we get there.
