Page 138 of Things I Wish I Said
“Thank you,” I whisper, before stealing a kiss.
Someone clears their throat, and I remember where we are. In a car, with a driver.
When I pull back, Ry bites her lip to hide a smirk. “Let’s go.”
She flings her door open and pulls me out after her.
“Have you really never been to an MLB game?” I ask.
“Nope.” She shakes her head, then laughs at the horror I feel etched on my face. “Is that really so hard to believe? I grew up with a single mom and my obsession was soccer. It may not be in the same season, but it took up all my free time just the same.”
“Fair enough.” I reach down and clasp her hand in mine, bringing it to my mouth for a kiss as we approach the entrance. Much to my surprise, she pulls two tickets out of her purse, and we make it through the gates quickly.
“So you planned this? How far in advance?”
She grins. “Right after my mother gave us her blessing to come.”
“You know, as outrageous as I think it is that you’ve never been to a game, I’m glad your first is with me,” I say, giving her hand a little squeeze.
“That’s not the only first that will be with you this week, De Leon.” She winks, and my mouth turns dry. Any response I might’ve had sticks in my throat like peanut butter.
I run a hand over the back of my neck, a flush creeping over my cheeks.
Shit, I’m blushing like a thirteen-year-old girl.
I have no idea if she’s serious or not. I don’t even know for sure if she’s even a virgin, although from the little she’s told me about her social life and dating experience, I assume she is. The fact that she would even consider taking that next step with me has my stomach tied in knots. And though I don’t expect anything from her this week, now all I can fucking think about is how maybe she wants to.
“Um, a little help here?” she says, motioning toward the placard with the seat aisle and numbers on it.
“Oh, crap. Sorry,” I mutter, pulling my head out of the gutter.
But seriously, she can’t say shit like that and expect me to keep my head on straight.
She hands the tickets over with a little laugh as I quickly find the right section and lead us toward our seats.
We descend the stadium stairs when I realize exactly where our seats are and pause. “Sinclair, these are right behind home plate.”
She blinks at me and scrunches her nose. “That’s good right? Because the lady on the phone said—what? Why are you looking at me like that?”
A dry laugh escapes my lips. “Is that good?” I ask, incredulous. “Sinclair, these must have cost a fucking fortune!”
She shrugs, a rueful grin skirting her lips. “It was worth it. Besides, I can’t—”
I press another kiss to her mouth, right there on the stadium steps not giving a shit who’s watching because if I have to hear her say she can’t take her money with her one more fucking time, my heart might implode.
My tongue traces the seam of her mouth before she grants me entry. She tastes like the orange juice and champagne she drank on the plane, an enticing combination.
By the time I pull away, she’s breathless.
Good.
Maybe I wiped the previous thought from her mind.
I have five days, I remind myself. Five days for just us and no one else. Five days to convince her to let me help her.
By the time we leave Dodger Stadium and arrive back at the hotel, it’s only six o’clock, but with the time difference from the East Coast, it’s nine o’clock our time. I can see the fatigue in Ryleigh’s sloth-like gait as she climbs out of the Uber and waits for me to join her on the sidewalk.
Her face is sun-kissed from the game, the light sprinkle of freckles over her nose more prominent than when we left, and when she glances up at me, she yawns. “We’ll just check in, see our room, and then we can go to dinner.”
