Page 12 of Play Maker

“You’re the one stuck in the parking lot with a drama queen of a truck.”

He huffs a laugh, rubbing a gloved hand down his jaw. “It’s not stuck. It’s just thinking about starting.”

“Oh, sure. Totally normal. My oven does that, too. Just sits there, contemplating its life choices before preheating.”

He tilts his head. “You always this mouthy at midnight?”

“You always this helpless when it snows?”

A beat passes, his lips twitching up, no doubt against his will. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“A little.”

He leans toward the steering wheel and gives the ignition another crank. Nothing.

“Battery’s dead,” he mutters.

“Sounds like a you problem.”

“I left my charger at the townhouse.”

I arch a brow. “And your phone?”

He holds it up. Dark screen. “Dead.”

I sigh, already regretting what I know I’m about to say. “You can use my landline.”

His eyes flick to mine, skeptical. “You still have a landline?”

“It came with the silo. Like the warped floorboards and the mystery attic noises in the walls.”

He pauses. “You’re inviting me in?”

I cross my arms. “I’m saying your other options are freezing to death or waiting for a ride you can’t call.” I step back.

A long moment passes before he opens the door with a creak, stepping out into the snow. He’s already dusted in it, from the shoulders of his jacket to the brim of his cap.

“You sure this is a good idea?” he asks, falling into step beside me.

“No.” I trudge through the drifts. “But neither is sitting in a dead truck in a blizzard. So, pick your bad decision.”

He chuckles under his breath. “This Lo after dark?”

“Only when I’m cold, tired, and being annoyed.”

“So … always.”

I glance back at him. “Keep talking like that, and you can sleep in the snow.”

He smirks. “You’d miss me.”

I snort. “Me, no. The team, yes.”

But the truth, I might.

As we reach the stairs to my place, I glance over my shoulder. “Try not to trip over your ego on the way in. This isn’t a fancy townhouse.”

He shrugs. “No promises.”

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