Page 15 of Puck of the Irish

"Come on, let's get you home." I nod, half hoping that he means that he's coming homewithme, not just throwing me in an Uber. He leads me out to the parking lot and to his waiting Maserati and my pulse races. It’s black and sleek and sexy, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited to ride in it. He’s got a big ass Range Rover too, and I think an old Mustang. The guy likes cars, that’s for sure, and I idly wonder how much extra he pays for parking spaces for all of them in the garage beneath that fancy apartment building of his.

He opens the passenger door for me and I eye him.

"I had one beer when we first got here six hours ago and nothing but water since then. I promise I'm fine to drive." I nod, trusting him completely, and settle down into the soft leather seat. He starts her up and Hannah Montana—or technically Miley Cyrus, I guess—blares from the speakers, so loudly that I wince. He quickly twists the knob to lower the volume and I eye him.

"Uh, Ollie was in the car earlier…"

"Mmm hmm…"

He pulls out of the parking lot and we sit in silence for a few minutes, but then Rizzo starts to sing along quietly, giving me a sidelong glance, and I bust out laughing. I reach over and crank the music back up and then we're both signing it at the top of our lungs. We have a full karaoke party all the way through town, me giving him directions here and there to my place. Eventually, hepulls up outside the house and kills the music. My cheeks and belly hurt from smiling and laughing so hard, and he wipes tears from his eyes.

“Those are so not the words,” he says, still laughing.

“They are too!It doesn’t make a difference if we’re naked or not. That’s what he says!”

He clutches at his side.

“It doesn’t make a difference if wemake itor not.Make itor not.” I grin, realizing that he’s probably right now that he says it, but refusing to let him win.

“Nah, it’s definitely naked. I will die on this hill.” He smiles and shakes his head, muttering something about a loss cause. Eventually the laughter fades and he nods towards the big craftsman.

“Nice house.”

“It’s where I grew up, actually. I moved back in after…when I came back from New York.” He nods in understanding and I lean back against the headrest, turning my face towards him. He’s so handsome I could cry, but it’s more than that.

“Why do you have to be so much fun?” I ask with a sigh.

“Fun is a bad thing?”

Fun is a…complicated thing that could lead to even more complicated things because I’m really, really starting to like Rizzo more than I should.

We sit there in the quiet, just looking at each other and it’s a nice moment. There’s that simmering heat just beneath the surface like there always is between us, but it’s also an easy, companionable moment to justbewith him. He’s one of the few people that I can just sit with and not feel any pressure to fill a silence or act a certain way.

After a few minutes I realize I need to make a decision here. I can get out of the car, say goodnight, and stay on the smartpath of one-and-done (with a few kissing indiscretions here and there, admittedly).

Or, I can invite him in and have another amazing night of sex, and set myself down the path to inevitable heartache. Just as I'm about to make the dumb decision and tell him to turn the car off, he takes a deep, almost shuddering breath, as if he's preparing for something unpleasant. Or scary. I tilt my head, immediately on alert.

"Will you have dinner with me?" he blurts. I blink in confusion, clearly mishearing him. "Not tonight, obviously," he says, waving towards the dash clock. "I mean…do you want to go out with me? On a… date?"

I stare at him incredulously. He's fucking with me, right?

"You don't date," I remind him slowly.

"Well, I've never climbed Mount Everest either, but I'm sure I could do it if I wanted to,” he says almost defensively and I remember how competitive he is about literallyeverything. The Bop It Incident flashes through my mind and I almost laugh. Suffice it to say that he and Howey ended up rolling around on the floor trying to pummel each other, and the Bop It wound up sailing through a window and landing in a pile of snow.

"You're seriously…asking me out?"

"…Yes?" he says, though it comes out as question.

"Why?"

"I…don't know." Well that's a great answer. My face must say as much. "I didn't mean it like that, I just meant…I want another night with you, Nat. And I don't want it to just be a random hook up…" He only sounds half sure and bless his heart for trying, as Hattie would say, but I think even thethoughtof dating is giving him hives. I don't think I've ever seen Anthony Rizzo nervous about anything, even when he's playing for division titles or throwing down with three guys on the ice. But right now it looks like he might just puke or pass out or both.

"I don't think of you as just another booty call or one night stand, Nat. I want you to know that. So, I thought…dinner."

I huff out a small laugh. It's actually really sweet that he's trying to make sure I don't feel like I'm just one among the many, but that's still what I'll be. Having dinner first won't change the fact that he'll have another puck bunny tomorrow, and another the night after that, and another two or three when they go to Philly next week.

And that's totally fine. That's his life and it's one he enjoys. I'm not asking him to change that for me…not that I think he's capable of changing it, even if I did ask.

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