Page 32 of Grizz

“I know that,” he says, finally meeting my eyes.“No one comes to the arena to see the sponsors, Turner.They come to see me score.”

“You might want to let the sponsors know that,” I shoot back.“They’re the ones paying the bills.”

He reclines like he owns the cab and all the space within it, one arm stretched along the seat, legs stretched.“You always this fun in the morning?”

“Only when I’m babysitting millionaires with punctuality issues.”

He grins, clearly enjoying himself.“You’re cute when you’re mad.”

My stomach flips, and I hate that it does.“Don’t,” I warn.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t patronize me.”

He chuckles, tipping his head back against the seat.“You’re wound tight, you know that?”

“I’m doing my job.”

“Which apparently involves scolding grown men in taxis.”

“Only when those grown men act like immature teenagers.”

He looks at me, amused, eyes darting briefly to my mouth before sliding away.“You ever think maybe you care too much about stuff that doesn’t matter?”

“It matters to me,” I say.His expression shifts slightly, presumably from the crack in my composure.“And it should matter to you, considering your entire public image is dangling by a thread.”

He laughs with the frustrating confidence of a guy who’s always used to winning.“My image is fine.”

“Your image,” I say, “is a dumpster fire that PR keeps putting out with napkins.”

He whistles.“Harsh.”

“Accurate.”

He studies me for a second, like he’s trying to decide whether to poke me again or let it go.He pokes.“Do you enjoy being so serious all the time?”

“I enjoy doing my job well.And I’m this serious only when I’m in cars with people who make my life harder than it needs to be.”

“That can’t be true,” he says with a shake of his head.“You seem like the type who’s serious everywhere.The kind who alphabetizes her stress.”

I glare at him.“Do you ever stop talking?”

“Not when it’s this easy to get a rise out of you.”

I exhale and turn toward the window.Broadway blurs past in billboards, delivery trucks, a woman walking three dogs in matching sweaters.I try to breathe, to stop thinking about how close he is and how four days ago he kissed me just to get me to shut up.

And I think about how he told me about his dad.Spilled it like blood and then refused to acknowledge it after the fact.It told me that there’s deep pain there.“You know, I’m not against you, Grizz.”

His reflection in the window goes still.“No?”

“No.I’m trying to help you.You think I enjoy chasing you around locker rooms and dragging you into cabs?I’m doing my job.You just make it—”

“Fun?”

“Maddening.”

His eyes narrow slightly.“So what, you want me to start sayingpleaseandthank you?Hold doors?”