15. Wanna Bet?
FIFTEEN
WANNA BET?
ISABELLA
The door to Ryan’s place swings open before I even get the chance to knock.
“Come in, come in,” he rushes out, waving me in and shutting the door behind me.
I kick my shoes off by the door and let my eyes drift over the space.
We may have been friends for nearly a month at this point, but it’s my first time at his place.
We’ve never crossed the imaginary line that involved going over to each other’s homes.
It’s a step too far. Asking for trouble.
And if I want to be completely honest, I don’t know if I can fully trust myself to keep this friendly.
Something is changing in our friendship, and I can’t quite put my finger on it.
But I think it’s me. I’m changing. Tonight’s incident aside, I don’t dread going to work anymore.
Dare I say, I actually look forward to games now?
And it’s entirely his fault. I still don’t quite follow the games, but I pay attention to him.
Only him. It’s like there’s nobody else on the team.
His place is so very him. It’s clean, but not compulsively tidy.
It’s a lived in type of clean. There’s a throw blanket haphazardly strewn across the large sofa that’s placed opposite an obscenely large, wall-mounted flat-screen.
All the better to watch baseball highlights on I suppose.
His kitchen nearly brings tears to my eyes.
Much like the rest of his apartment, it’s massive.
Light gray cabinets lining the walls with bright white granite countertops, it’s the kitchen of my dreams. And it’s pristine. Too pristine.
“Do you even cook in here?” I ask, looking back to where he stands by the front door.
He shifts on his feet and rubs a hand along the back of his neck.
“Sometimes.” I raise an eyebrow, calling bullshit.
His counters are much too white to be something he uses regularly.
He rolls his eyes and cracks a soft smile.
The one I only ever catch him giving me.
“Okay, not all that often.” I start to laugh but he raises his voice, talking over the sound.
“I use it more during the offseason! It’s hard to keep up with cooking for myself during the season. ”
I hum in agreement as I walk through the space, trailing a finger along the chilled counters.
The living room, dining room, and kitchen are part of one large open concept space with a hallway down one side and a door on the other, that I assume leads to his room.
The back wall of the living room is made up entirely of floor to ceiling windows which give a breathtaking view of the town and even further in the distance is downtown LA.
It’s almost magical the way the lights twinkle in the dusk light.
“Wow, this view is incredible,” I say softly, as if my voice would disrupt the image before me if it was much louder.
“Yeah, it really is,” he replies in a voice as soft and awe filled as my own.
I cast a glance over my shoulder and find him at the counter, a bowl in his hands, looking back at me standing in front of the windows, that smile that’s only mine on his face.
After a heartbeat, he blinks quickly and clears his throat.
“It’s part of what sold me on this place.
” He crosses the rooms to where I stand to pass me the bowl, filled with popcorn.
I’m not sure what just happened but there’s a weight that hangs in the room now.
Taking the bowl from his hand, I plop myself down onto the couch and attempt to cut through the tension that’s built. “So, what should we watch?”
“Oh, I know just the thing,” he says as he plucks the remote off the coffee table and falls back into the cushions on the opposite end.
“Wait, really? I don’t even get a say?” I ask, flabbergasted.
He turns toward me and cocks an eyebrow. “You asked me what we should watch.”
“Yeah, well I was being polite and asking your opinion! Not for you to choose the whole damn movie. You were supposed to go”—I pitch my voice low to imitate his—“‘oh, I don’t know Isa. What are you thinking?’ And then I would’ve said ‘gee, thanks for asking, Ryan. Maybe a good ol’ fashioned comedy. ’ It’s called having manners!”
Amusement twinkles in his eyes and his lips twitch, a sign that he’s holding back a smile. “Well, I guess I don’t have any manners then because I already picked it. And you’re going to love it.”
“Oh, is that right?” I raise an eyebrow in challenge.
“That’s right,” he says with a confident smirk before turning back to the TV and clicking into his streaming services.
I lean back, crossing my arms over my chest. “Alright, if I’m going to love it so much, then what are we watching?”
“A League of Their Own.”
My brows furrow as I think. “Never heard of it.”
He scoffs. “Of course you haven’t. It’s a baseball movie.” He looks over quickly to shoot a wink in my direction.
I crinkle my nose in distaste. “A baseball movie? You really think I’m going to love a baseball movie? Do you even know me at all?”
“Oh, I know you will. I’m even willing to bet on it.”
That brings a devious grin to my face. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” he says with a confident smile.
“Fine. If you’re so certain I’ll love it, what do I get when I hate it?” I ask, certain I’ll be the one to win this bet.
“Hmm…” He trails off, thinking about it for a moment. “What do you want?”
What do I want? Well, that’s a loaded question now, isn’t it? “I want you to cool it with the walk-up songs. I know you were using them to get to me initially, but it’s time to stop. If I win, you go back to your original walk-up song.”
“What? You don’t like Queen? Come on, ‘You’re My Best Friend’ is a classic!” I shoot him a glare, pulling a chuckle from him before he nods in agreement. “Fine, done.”
“And if you win? What do you want?” I ask.
“When I win… I want to take you out on a date.” His face is smug, meanwhile I’m stuck somewhere between panic and excitement.
I gape at him. “No, absolutely not. You can’t take me out on a date. It’s against so many rules.”
“I can fly under the radar. Come on, firecracker. Just say yes,” he pleads at me with his eyes.
I chew on my lip as I weigh the idea. This has the potential to go so wrong. But I hate to admit, I’m actually curious. I huff out a breath. “Fine. If you win, I’ll go on a date.”
The smile that spreads across his face is downright wicked. “Excellent.”
And with that, he queues up the movie.
I grab a few handfuls of popcorn as the opening credits roll. “How is this a movie about baseball?” I ask around a mouthful.
He chuckles, throwing a piece my way. “Shh! Watch the movie.”
I roll my eyes at him but return them to the screen in time to see one of the actors’ names. “Wait. Madonna is in this? Like the Madonna?”
“Yes, Isa. The Madonna.” He turns and gives me an appraising look. “You’re one of those people who talk throughout the entire movie, aren’t you?”
I scoff at his question. How absurd. “No, of course not.”
“Your country needs you? It’s baseball, not the war!” I shout, throwing my handful of popcorn at the screen.
“Well, I mean, it is World War II so it kind of is war,” Ryan argues back before stealing the popcorn bowl from my lap, forcing me to scoot closer to his end to reach it.
“She’s not pretty enough? What a PIG! I mean, sure, she’s got crazy ex-girlfriend eyes, but that doesn’t mean she can’t be on the team.” I hate men. Honestly.
“Calm down there, firecracker. It all works out in the end.”
“Wow, Fletch. Spoilers much?”
He simply shakes his head, chuckling at me as he redirects his attention.
“Please tell me they’re not actually going to play in those dresses. Are they?” I look to Ryan in horror.
“Watch the movie!” he says.
“Oh, that’s so misogynistic. Why do they need to ‘act like ladies’ if they’re playing baseball for fuck’s sake!”
“Don’t you dare ever manhandle me the way Tom Hanks just manhandled Kit,” I scold Ryan, pointing at the screen. Fire blazes in my eyes as I look at him. “I have feet and they work.” I wiggle the toes of said feet in his direction.
“Duly noted,” he acknowledges with a smirk before snagging both feet from the air and pulling them to rest on his lap, his hand casually draped over my ankles.
“If they have Canadians, Irish, and Swedes, then how are they ‘all-American’?” I ask, confused.
Ryan looks stumped as he thinks through my question. “You know, you make a valid point.” I smile in triumph as I settle back into the couch.
My eyes burn as Tom Hanks reads the letter and scans the room. “Oh no. Please no.” I sniffle. “Please don’t tell me her husband died in the war.” The tears are trying to spring from my eyes. “Oh, thank god.” I release a relieved breath.
“WAIT, SHE’S LEAVING?”
“Well, yeah. Her husband’s home,” Ryan answers, as if that explains everything. It does not explain a single thing.
“SO? That’s complete bullshit. She’s the best one on the team! Hell, she’s probably the best one in the whole damn league.”
He laughs at me. “She is most definitely the best. But she did say she would go home when her husband returned.”
“No. Nope. Fuck that. She loves this game. She’s not allowed to leave because of a man.”
“Ew! She’s not changed her socks? Baseball players and their damn superstitions.” I turn to Ryan. “Do you have any?”
He smirks at me. “Some” is the only answer I get.
I snort a laugh. “I’ll pray for you like that before every game.” I try to pull off my best Tom Hanks impression. “May your balls be plentiful.” I break into a fit of giggles.
“Pretty sure we’d win every game if you did.”
“SHE’S BACK, OH THANK GOD. They need her to win. No offense to the rest of the girls.”
“Aw, look at Tom Hanks giving constructive criticism for once!”
“Mae’s such a bitch… I love her.”
“Oh my god. This is so dramatic.” I lean closer to the screen so I don’t miss a thing.
“God, I need someone to hype me up the way Doris hypes up Ellen Sue.”
“I’ll hype you up all day long, baby,” Ryan says with a wink.
“Ew, no. Don’t call me baby. I’m not your baby.”