6. When You Assume
SIX
WHEN YOU ASSUME
RYAN
But now, as I pull out of the parking lot from the stadium, I find myself wishing the drive was longer. Fuck. Why couldn’t she have lived in Santa Clarita? Anywhere that would let me spend more time with her.
And then I hear it. The smallest, quietest of growls comes from the passenger seat. This is my in.
“Actually, would it be alright if we make a pit stop on the way?” I ask carefully.
She wouldn’t be so rude as to let me starve, would she?
If I make it seem like I’m the one who’s hungry, she’ll be more likely to accept, right?
Especially if I’m not calling her out directly about the sound her stomach made.
She’s a wild horse, she spooks easily. I don’t actually know if that’s true about horses.
I’ve never been around one in my life. City boy through and through.
But it sounds right, so we’re going to roll with the metaphor.
“What kind of pitstop?” She looks at me, skepticism written across her face.
“I’m starved. I always pick up something to eat on the way home from a game. The pre-game meal in the clubhouse always feels like ages ago.”
“Oh.” I glance at her out of the corner of my eye and see her chewing on her bottom lip. It’s driving me crazy. I wish it were me doing that. Stop. She already shot you down. “Yeah, that’s fine. I could use something to eat too. Haven’t had anything since lunch before I went to the stadium.”
Luckily, we’re stuck at the red light, so when I whip my head over to gape at her, I’m not putting us in any sort of danger. “What do you mean you haven’t eaten since before work? You were there before the team!”
“Yes, that does tend to be the schedule,” she deadpans.
“No, I just mean, we’re due into the stadium at three for a 6 p.m. game. And you were there before us?—”
“Two if you’d like me to be exact,” she interjects.
“—and it’s after ten!” I finish, flicking my eyes ahead to check that the light is still red.
“Yes, I can tell time, Fletcher.”
“Why didn’t you eat anything?”
“I meant to bring a granola bar, but I keep forgetting to pick them up from the grocery store,” she says with a shrug. “It’s fine. I’m so busy anyway. It never hits me until I’m on the way home.”
I shake my head and return my attention to the road as the light turns green. I bypass the highway’s onramp and drive a few blocks before pulling into the parking lot at a place that serves as my post-game ritual for all home games.
“You’re kidding me.”
“What? You don’t like In-N-Out?” I ask her, already horrified by the thought.
She angles her body to face me and crosses her arms over her chest. “Would I like In-N-Out if I were a vegetarian?”
I don’t think I’ve ever truly understood the phrase the blood drained from their face until now. I genuinely feel like all the color has seeped out of my face. How could I not even think to ask if she ate meat? Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“You know what they say about assuming, Fletcher,” she repeats my earlier remark with a smirk.
“I—oh my god. You’re right. I’m so sorry, Isa. I should’ve asked. I wasn’t thinking. God, I’m such an idiot. We can go somewhere els?—”
Her cackling interrupts the rest of my word vomit. I stiffen at the sound. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. Even a little obnoxious, but I love it, because it’s real. She’s not laughing because she’s pretending to think I’m funny. She’s laughing because she’s truly enjoying herself.
Only problem? I don’t actually know what the joke is here.
“God, you’re so easy to mess with.” She wipes at her watering eyes.
“Fletcher, I’m Italian. Of course, I eat meat.
Pretty sure I’d be disowned if I didn’t.
Italian citizenship revoked.” She shakes her head at me with a full-on smile.
“I mean, I think In-N-Out is a bit overrated for a burger joint, but it’s not the worst thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.
” I raise an eyebrow, and her eyes widen as she realizes what she’s said.
“I did not mean it like that. Oh my god,” she groans as she drops her face into her hands.
“This is instant karma for the vegetarian joke.”
It makes me laugh, which causes her to lift her face out of her hands and give me a look I can’t quite decipher.
I look at the line for the drive-thru ahead of us and another light bulb goes off.
“You cool if we park and eat inside? I don’t really feel like spending half an hour waiting for this line to move.”
She looks at the line, considering. Eventually, she comes to the same decision as me with a shrug. “Sure, why not. We’re both starved and this will make it all faster.”
“Next in line!” the young girl working the register calls to where Isa and I are waiting.
I step forward, but she hangs back. I look at her expectantly. “Oh, no, you go. I’ll order after you,” she says, trying to wave me off.
“Isa, come on. It’s fine. Let me put those millions to good use, right?” I give her a smirk.
I can see the fire light up behind her eyes at that.
“Well, when you put it like that.” She flicks her hair over her shoulder and marches past me to the counter.
There’s the firecracker. “Hi there,” she says, smiling sweetly at the employee, “could I please get a double-double, one fry animal style, and a large chocolate shake. Please. Oh, and whatever he’s getting.
” She hooks her thumb in my direction as she steps away from the counter.
“I’ll have the exact same please,” I say as I pull my wallet from my back pocket, paying for our meals. Once I’ve collected the receipt, I track Isa down at the booth she’s secured in a quiet corner of the restaurant.
“This isn’t a date by the way,” she rushes out the second my ass hits the hard plastic of the bench.
I bring my hand to clutch at my chest. “Ouch. Make a guy feel really good about himself, why don’t you,” I joke through the sting of a second rejection.
“I…” She sighs to herself. “You paid for dinner, which thank you for by the way. I wanted to make sure your expectations on this were clear.” She’s back to nibbling on her bottom lip.
“Trust me, Isa. My expectations are crystal clear after you turned me down last week.” My words make her cringe.
“I’m sorry about that. I may have come across a bit… frosty.” The look on her face makes it seem like she’s genuinely apologetic.
“No hard feelings. I had only just met you anyway. I’ve been told I come on a bit strong.” I give her my best self-deprecating smile.
“It’s not you. Well, not you as a person. It’s you as an athlete.”
“Don’t like athletes or something?” I ask with a chuckle as I lean back into the bench, stretching my arm across the back of my seat.
“Well, I mean not typically.” That’s an interesting way to word that. Typically. Does that mean she does in this case? “It’s because you play for the team. My employer has a strict no fraternization policy regarding the athletes and production staff.”
Oh. Oh. So, it really wasn’t about me. Wow, that makes me seem so conceited.
But wait… “Doesn’t this technically count as fraternization?” I ask, pointing between the two of us.
She tilts her head for a moment, thinking about my question. “I suppose it could technically. But their intentions for the rule are romantic relationships. Plus, you’re only giving me a ride home because my car broke down. And we both needed to eat.” She shrugs.
“Alright. I would hate to cause any issues for you with your job because I held you hostage and forced you into stopping for food.”
She waves off my concern as our number is called. I pop out of our booth before she can even move to retrieve our food. Back at the table, I divvy everything out between the two of us. We quickly begin digging into our meals as if we haven’t eaten in days, as opposed to hours.
“So,” I say around a bite of my burger, “tell me about this whole security thing. How did you get into it?”
“Honestly?” She washes down her food with a sip of her shake.
“I kind of stumbled into it, I guess. Like any eighteen-year-old in college, I had absolutely zero idea what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. I mean, who really knows what they want to devote the rest of their life to at only eighteen?”
I give her my signature smirk. “I did.”
She rolls her eyes and takes another sip of her shake before pointing the straw toward me in emphasis.
“You don’t count. In fact, all professional athletes don’t count.
You’ve been priming for this since you were in diapers most likely.
But at eighteen, for a normal, peasant person like me? I had barely even lived!”
“You’re not wrong about that.” I let out a soft chuckle and toss a few fries in my mouth. “So, tell me, how did eighteen-year-old Isabella Rossi stumble into security?”
“I had some really great professors who talked me through my options. We talked about my interest in film and television. I loved learning about all the moving parts behind the scenes that went into putting a show on your television once a week, or a film into movie theaters. But I also didn’t want to put all my eggs into the basket of film school, because that’s setting yourself up for long-term failure.
I wanted something that was a bit more robust and could be applied to various industries and roles.
Something with a bit more job security—pun intended.
Plus, it would’ve given my parents a heart attack and caused them to disown me probably,” she says before taking another bite of her burger.
“And thus… security?”
“Security.” She punctuates the word with a nod.