Chapter 4
Four
MALAKI
I kick my feet up onto the coffee table and rest my hands behind my head. The apartment is quiet without Kane here, and although I’ve spent a lot of time alone, even when I was a kid, it’s sort of nice having a roommate.
With Kane in full denial about his little obsession with our neighbor beneath us, he’s preoccupied.
In other words…he’s hook, line, and sinker.
Taken. Gone. He is no longer single nor the leader of the party clan.
The majority of my teammates are either in a serious relationship or married. Good for them.
That’s not for me, though.
Not now, and maybe never.
To allow yourself to get that close to someone requires careful consideration. It has to be deliberate, and in my opinion, loving them has to be worth the fear of losing them.
I mean, I read that somewhere once, but it makes sense, especially after losing my mother and being left with essentially no one but me, myself, and I.
Most of the men I surround myself with are getting engaged, having babies, or stalking their best friend’s sister–that’s directed toward Kane, of course–but that doesn’t mean I have to do that. I’m the guy who’s just happy to have a good time.
I am bored, though.
My phone rests face down on the couch beside me. I grab it to scroll through social media again. After a few swipes of my feed, mostly filled with hockey highlights and more of my friends posing with their girls, I get a message.
Kane
I need backup.
Say less.
Me
Backup how? Are you about to fight someone?
Kane has always been the troublesome type.
That man has skeletons in his closet. It’s part of the reason I moved into his apartment with him.
I have my own house, on the other side of town, but when there’s a friend in need, I’m your guy.
Can’t cover the rent? I’ve got you. Need a ride from the bar? Get in, loser.
Kane
Maybe.
I’d bet my lucky hockey stick that this has something to do with Daisy.
Which just so happens to give me the best idea I’ve had all night.
I eagerly exit out of my messages and pull open another app. I grin and click on request a ride.
Do I have my own car? Yes.
Can I drive it to the club? Also yes.
But how would I see that pretty, brown-eyed angel of an Uber driver that I can’t stop thinking about if I did that?
I climb from the couch and head to the bathroom to get ready. It takes me less than three minutes, and by then, I’ve already canceled two trips due to them not being Reese.
I request again and again, even narrowing my search to female drivers only.
Ten minutes have passed, another text from Kane, and then it happens.
Her information pops up, showing me the make of her vehicle, and when she’ll be arriving.
I smirk, dab on some cologne, and head out the door.
I watch her on the map as I make my way to the elevator. With each descending floor, my hope dissipates more. Her car remains idle, unmoving in the direction it needs to go.
Reese clearly knows it's me. I mean, how could she not? I tipped her more than I’ve ever tipped anyone when she brought me home the other night.
You’d think she’d be eager to be my Uber driver again.
Unless she isn’t a girl who’s motivated by money.
I’m not trying to buy her, though. I’m just trying to make our time together worthwhile.
I rest against the side of the apartment complex and allow a few more minutes to pass before I pull up the messages.
Me
Are you broken down? Need a hero to come rescue you?
Despite being fatherless from a very early age, I was still taught basic survival skills every man should know: how to fix a flat, how to change the oil—you know, those sorts of things.
My mother made sure I was well versed in basically anything life could throw at me before she died.
I’m well-versed in laundry and baking too.
Reese
Did you request me on purpose?
My mouth flattens. Psh. What? No.
Me
You can’t request certain drivers on the app. Must’ve just been a coincidence.
I exit the message and pull up her map again. She still isn’t moving.
Reese
Don’t you have your own car?
Me
I may have a few drinks. Can’t risk driving back, and I would rather not leave my car downtown.
Instead of waiting for her to come to me, I’ll just go to her.
There. Problem solved.
Once I’m a block away, I click on the tip I had originally given her for the last ride and edit the amount while smiling to myself.
3…2…1…
Reese
Are you bribing me to give you a ride?
How dare she assume that.
Me
What do you make on a typical night of Ubering?
I only spent a half hour with her—tops. Yet, I can picture her eyeroll as she reads my message.
Reese
Just depends. Why? Thinking of getting a side job?
I chuckle.
Me
As if I have the time for that.
Turning the corner for the street she’s on, I scan each parked car. Blue, red, black…there. Her white Honda snags my attention. I stop on the sidewalk with my phone in hand and wait for her to respond, my fingertips tingling with excitement.
Reese
You have time to pester me, so surely you have time to Uber.
Pester. Flirting. I see how she can get the two mixed up.
Just to push her buttons a little more, I go back and re-edit my tip again. This time, I triple it.
She messages me within seconds.
Reese
I’m not a prostitute! Stop sending me hefty amounts of money!
Me
Fine.
I put my phone away and head directly for her with a teasing smirk locked away until I’m on the passenger side of her car.