Kitabı oku: «It Happened in L.A.», sayfa 5
All his life he’d, well, underestimated people like Gwen. Those who didn’t meet his standards. People who didn’t matter to the tabloids had rarely mattered to him. It had been easier that way. It kept his world view controllable. Why mess that up now?
“Paul?”
He clicked on his intercom. “Yeah?”
“Someone’s here to see you. She doesn’t wish me to give her name. She wants it to be a surprise.”
“Send her in.”
He straightened up, ran a hand through his hair, wondering if it could be Gwen. He felt a little surge of anticipation as he stood.
The door opened and in walked Autumn. The small stab of disappointment knocked him back to his senses. Autumn was all soft hair, big eyes and long legs. They hadn’t spoken since that night at Nobu, and for the life of him he couldn’t recall why he’d thought that was a good idea.
“I owe you an apology,” she said, moving toward him with a sway that would tempt a monk.
“For what?”
“For leaving you the other night. I was so naughty. And after all you did for me.”
She’d reached his desk, and then she moved around it so she was just in front of his chair. She put her hands on the armrests and leaned over close enough for him to catch a whiff of the essence of sin.
He tore his gaze away from her face just so he could appreciate the view of her breasts. They were perfect. Her low-cut dress combined with the modern wonders of the push-up bra and he stopped castigating himself about past mistakes to concentrate on mistakes he could make right now.
“You probably have a date tonight, so I won’t keep you.” Even her breath made him hard.
“There is no one but you.”
She smiled. “You always say the sweetest things.”
“Give me five minutes to make sure Tina’s gone. I’ll lock the door.”
That wasn’t the right answer according to her tiny pout. “That sounds nice, but I was thinking…”
He doubted that, but went along with it anyway. “About?”
“There’s a big party tonight at the Chateau Marmont. I thought we could go together. Just you and me.”
“And a hundred of our closest friends?”
“It’s going to be a really good party.”
He sighed. Autumn was Autumn. Knowing her, she’d had another escort lined up, but something had happened, so she’d turned to Paul. And, knowing her, at the end of the evening, there would be a kiss or two, maybe a little more, but even though the party was at a hotel with beds and room service there would be no sex.
Gwen had told him how to woo Autumn, but he hadn’t believed it. If he was smart, he’d send her on her way. Go home. Read a book. Watch something on PBS.
Autumn leaned down just far enough to run the tip of her tongue over his bottom lip.
After the shiver that went straight to his cock died down enough for him to breathe, he said, “Do you want dinner first?”
Chapter 7
THERE WAS SOMETHING sinful about riding in a stretch limo wearing faded jeans and an old Dodgers T-shirt. Gwen should have met Paul at the stadium, but he’d insisted on picking her up. If she’d known it was going to be in this gas guzzler, she’d have flat out refused.
“Come on. It’s not that bad. Some people would actually enjoy this little luxury.”
Maybe she was being too harsh. He was trying very hard to win her over, and for Paul, a limo equaled major points. “The whole day’s going to be like this, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “Extravagance and pampering until you just can’t take another minute of it. I wouldn’t blame you at all if you broke down in tears while having to choose between the lobster and the filet mignon.”
“I’ll be too busy watching the game. You remember. Dodgers? Baseball?”
“Excuse me, who won the trivia contest?”
“By one point.”
“One point was all that was needed.”
She had to give it up and smile. “Conceited much?”
Paul turned more toward her. He was in his version of casual—jeans that fit him to perfection, a T-shirt that had to be a size smaller than was wise—the better to show off his shoulders and impeccable abs. He had a baseball cap on the seat across from them and she wondered if he’d risk ruining that scruffy, terribly chic do by putting it on. He was a living, breathing Abercrombie & Fitch ad.
“Somehow,” he said, “I doubt you’d have been the model of humility if you’d won.”
“I would have been so gracious you’d have choked on it.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “I rest my case.”
Gwen shook her head, thinking he was right. It wasn’t all that bad. If she let herself, she might have a very fine time today. She’d always wanted to watch the game from the suites, and here was her chance. She didn’t want to waste it worrying about Paul’s motives. If he was being a louse, she’d find out soon enough. The opposite might take longer, but eventually his true colors would be visible. For now, all she had to do was relax. Enjoy the swag. Why not?
“You gave in pretty quickly. I’m worried.”
“Don’t be. I decided you were right. I’ve never gone to a game in a limo. It smells very good.”
He laughed, and oh, shit, she’d coached herself over and over in preparation, but it was all for naught. He melted something inside her, something she wanted excised, please, as quickly as possible.
How mortifying after being her, for God’s sake, to be taken in by beauty.
Not only was it wrong, it wasn’t fair.
“For someone who’s decided to have fun, that’s quite a scowl.”
She smiled, trying to mean it. “How come you know so much about baseball?”
He seemed as surprised at the question as she was for asking it. “Loved the game since I was a kid. I played all through school. At one point, I hoped to go all the way, but wasn’t good enough.”
“I’m surprised. I figured you were fabulous at everything.”
“That’s what my parents counted on, but it’s not true. I’ve always been into sports, though. Basketball, rowing, football, for a while at least.”
“Do you still play?”
“Pickup games at the gym, golf, tennis.”
“You should have clicked more with my brothers.”
“I was preoccupied.” He reached into the conveniently placed ice bucket and pulled out a bottle of Heineken. “Beer?”
“I need to pace myself. I have to have a couple of brews watching the game or my boys don’t stand a chance.”
He nodded. “Then by all means. I have some water in here, I think.”
“That’s okay. I’m good.”
“Do you play? Sports, I mean?”
“We have a company softball league. We also play touch football, and we bowl, depending on the season.”
“Sounds as if you do a lot with your coworkers. Anything outside the fold?”
“Not much. The job takes up so much time. It’s a very competitive field.”
He popped the top on his beer and settled back, one leg crooked and on the seat. “Is it all science geeks or do you headhunt for other talent?”
“We have different divisions. We’re one of the top firms in the world, actually. Offices all over the place. Mostly finance, the sciences and high tech.”
“How did you end up there?”
“I majored in chemistry and business. I’m not terribly thrilled with research, so this seemed right.”
“Chemistry, huh?”
She nodded. “I like knowing how to blow things up.”
Paul laughed. “And how often do you put that knowledge into practice?”
“Not as often as I’d like. It’s comforting, however, to know I could if I wanted to.”
He held up his beer. “Hear, hear. I can think of several things I’d like to blow to smithereens.”
She relaxed a bit more, sinking into the soft leather and the smooth ride. If she could just stop thinking about how damn pretty he was, she felt sure she could have herself a banner day.
PAUL OFFERED Gwen the best seat of the bunch. Not that they weren’t all great, but this one, it was primo. He never gave that seat to the women who came with him, knowing they wouldn’t appreciate it, but Gwen? Oh, yeah. She got it.
If only he could stop wishing she was as pretty as her sister.
It shouldn’t matter. Not for a friend. Hell, he shouldn’t be thinking about it at all. He liked her. He did. Still, the wish kept popping up.
And that damn wish kept reminding him about Friday night with Autumn. They’d gone to the party, and she’d been right. It had been a hell of a gathering, as A-list as they come. She’d been flirtatious all night. Unfortunately, she’d shared the wealth with all the men in the room. Normally, that didn’t bother him. Most of his dates understood their power and used it indiscriminately, especially around celebrities. He usually felt an odd pride about that.
Not this time.
He’d been irritated at her blatant sexuality, at her obviousness. When she’d been ready for the final tease with him, he’d been so tired and put off he’d barely tried to get her into bed.
“This is the most amazing place I’ve ever been,” Gwen said, staring down at first base. “And I’ve been to the Parthenon.”
Yep. She totally got it. “You’re right. Wait till the game starts. You’ll never want it to end.”
She tore her gaze from the field to look around. Even though it was one of the smaller suites it could still hold up to twenty guests. Occasionally, he brought that many. Clients and contacts, sometimes his poker buddies. Only once had it been him and a woman, but that had been too distracting. When he came here, he wanted baseball. Pure, simple, as it was meant to be played.
He watched her face as she noticed the screens, with a view from every angle. There was the wet bar and fridge, the hot food station, the round tables behind the front row, each with bowls of peanuts and popcorn and even M&M’s. She ran her hands over the arms of the Aeron chair, and he watched her test the lumbar feature, knowing there wasn’t a more comfortable seat in the whole damn place.
What he also knew was that the thrills were only beginning. The waiters would come in with all manner of delicious food. Dodger Dogs, naturally, but so much more. The beer was ice-cold on tap, the sound from the announcers piped directly in, the action on the field second only to being on the bench.
When she finally looked at him, her smile changed her face. He’d never seen her look like that before, even when they’d danced.
“Thank you. It’s heaven.”
“I knew you’d like it.”
“I do. I just can’t believe all this is just for us.”
He shrugged. “I have to do business here on a regular basis during the season. For once, I didn’t want to think about anything but the game.”
“I don’t think I could do business. It would be like working in church.”
“Exactly. You ready for your beer, or you want to wait for the first pitch?”
She bit her lower lip and for a moment he saw a family resemblance. Not that he could have said exactly what, but it was there. “I’ll wait,” she said.
“Whatever you want.” He sat back and looked past the park to Elysian Field. Even with the smog, it was a great sight. Man, he loved this place.
Gwen got up, and as she passed him, she put her hand on his shoulder. He looked at her, at her happiness, and he felt as if he’d passed a test. It wasn’t the whole match, but it was a start.
Now if he could just figure out why he wanted to win at all.
GWEN LOOKED AT HERSELF in the private bathroom mirror and she had to wonder whose life she was living. It wasn’t hers, that’s for sure.
The game had ended not ten minutes ago—a four-two victory for her boys. She’d eaten unbelievably fine food, shouted until she’d worried about losing her voice, had laughed far more than seemed plausible. In short, she’d had a great time.
With Paul Bennet.
There were still so many questions that she should be asking, but the truth was, she didn’t want to. It was one day. One game. She’d had a blast, and not just because of the game.
She’d underestimated Paul in the brains department. Yes, he still had the whole shallow thing going on, and please, she had to deal with enough of that with her family, but he’d said things this afternoon that made her believe there might be some thinking going on underneath that pretty-suit.
Not that she expected him to win the Nobel or anything, but it was heartening. Mostly because she didn’t have to feel quite so guilty about getting all twittery when he looked at her for longer than two seconds.
Her chin dropped to her chest. It was no good. He could have said the most brilliant thing she’d ever heard, and she’d still feel creepy. She was the most hypocritical person on earth, and she didn’t deserve to have had this day.
The lyrics from West Side Story started spinning in her head. Stick to her own kind was exactly what she needed to do. Which should be easy because this was it. She’d made up for being a bitch at Bats and Balls. He’d done his anthropology assignment, or whatever the hell he was trying to accomplish. Done. The end.
She put on some lip gloss, fluffed her hair to no avail, and returned to the suite.
He stood next to the wet bar, leaning against the fridge, his grin showing off the dimples that were simply overkill of cuteness. “I have one more surprise.”
“No. No way. I don’t think my heart can take it.”
“If you want, we can go down and meet a few of the guys.”
She knew exactly what “guys” he was talking about. She’d met two in her life. Derek Lowe and Jeff Kent. She’d stuttered like a fool both times. And neither player had paid so much as a second of attention to her.
But they would pay attention to Paul because he was the kind of man people noticed. The kind of man other men wanted to impress.
The question then became, did she want to subject herself to being the question no one asked, but everyone thought? Did her desire to meet ballplayers outweigh her ability to withstand total disinterest and not a small dose of humiliation?
Screw it. She’d been humiliated before. There were very few opportunities to meet her Dodgers. “Let’s go.”
He pushed off the fridge and gave her a wink. “This is gonna be great.”
Yes, it was. She wasn’t going to let any of the small stuff get to her. This was her idea of nirvana, something she’d remember forever.
She followed him down the concourse until they got to a smallish elevator. They rode down alone, stopping only when they reached the clubhouse level. That’s when a whole new set of jitters hit her.
“Tell me the truth.” She hurried to keep in step with Paul so she could whisper. “Will I look like a total dork if I ask them to sign my program?”
“Hell, no. They live for that stuff. They’d be crushed if you didn’t.”
“Wow, you are so good at your job.”
He laughed as he slowed down a bit. They were reaching the gateway to the clubhouse. Two very large men stood guard.
Paul stopped in front of large man number one. “Paul Bennet.”
The guard spoke quietly into his Bluetooth. Then he nodded at Paul as he stepped slightly to the right.
With her heart hammering, Gwen took her first step inside the hallowed space. How many times had she longed to get inside? To hear the pros do their own post-game analysis? She admired so many of them, making sure to focus her insatiable thirst for knowledge on their athleticism, not their personal lives. She might be a groupie at heart, but it was for baseball, not ballplayers.
“Watch your step,” Paul said. “There are lots of cables all over the floor. And if you see someone talking near a camera, lie low. No one wants to ruin a take.”
She nodded even though she knew pretty much all of what he’d said. She was a native Californian, after all. She’d grown up watching movies and TV shows being filmed. Often on her own street.
They got to the press area and the first person she saw was Takashi Saito, the relief pitcher. Then Nomar Garciaparra, and there was the catcher and her favorite first baseman, and holy crap, this was truly the mother lode. She got her program from her purse along with a pen, pissed she hadn’t thought of bringing a black marker.
Paul grabbed her hand as he slipped between a newscaster and her boom man. Even though she expected the cables, she almost tripped twice as they maneuvered through the tightly packed space.
He stopped right next to Dylan Hernandez, one of her favorite sportswriters, and waited while he interviewed Joe Torre.
Gwen tried to see everything at once. There were simply too many choices. Too many things she wanted to say to each of the players. Too big of a lump in her throat to even say boo.
The interview ended and Paul stepped right up to the Dodgers manager. “Joe, great game.”
Torre shook his hand. “How you doing, Paul.”
Gwen could hardly believe he was on a first name basis with the freakin’ manager.
“There’s someone I’d like you to meet. I know it doesn’t sound possible, but she’s a bigger fan than I am.” Paul stepped to her side, put his hand on the small of her back to gently urge her forward. “This is Gwen Christopher. You have any questions about your team, I’ll bet the farm she knows the answer.”
She stuck out her hand and she supposed it was shaken, but she was too busy trying not to act like a doofus. “It’s a great pleasure to meet you, sir.”
“Sir? You call me Joe.”
They said some things, things she knew she would want to remember, but nothing was getting through. It was Paul who had Joe sign her program. Then it was Paul herding a bunch of players in her direction. Each of them seemed delighted to meet her. Of course, Paul made her sound like the greatest baseball expert in the history of the game, and she was frankly too shell-shocked to correct him.
In the end, she’d met almost the whole lineup; her program was so precious to her she’d save it from a fire before her best friend.
By the time he called for the limo, she felt drained, exhausted and so damn happy she was beside herself. The parking lot was mostly deserted, which made sense as the game had ended two hours ago.
She turned to Paul. “I—”
He nodded. “I know.”
“But—”
“I know.”
“And you—”
“Seriously. I completely understand.”
But he didn’t. He couldn’t. It was one of the greatest times of her life. It was…It was…She grabbed hold of his head, pulled him down and kissed him as if he was Elvis, George Clooney and Sandy Koufax, all rolled into one.
When she let him go, he seemed a little startled. Maybe more than a little. Which made her feel like an idiot and, dammit, why had she ruined this perfect—
“Well, damn,” he said, his sly grin growing. “You’re welcome.”
Chapter 8
PAUL GLANCED AT his dashboard clock, then at the traffic he was stuck in, wondering whether he should turn around and go home.
For a Monday, his day had gone well. In fact, it was the antithesis of last week. He’d gotten a prime gig for one of his sports clients, saved the internationally famous ass of one of his celeb clients and he’d had a phone call from his mother in Florida where they were actually pleasant to each other.
After work he’d gone to the gym. As he’d hit the showers he realized he didn’t want to go home and he didn’t want to go to a club. He wanted to play baseball trivia. With Gwen. If he could win twice…
They’d had a good time yesterday at the ballpark. And her friends hadn’t seemed to mind him crashing last week. If he didn’t get all high school about it, no one would think a thing. Besides, he had that gift for Gwen’s friend.
He moved another foot, then another, and for a few minutes there it looked as if he might make it in time to chat before the trivia began. But it being L. A. and it being a day ending in Y, traffic bogged down yet again.
He put on the radio, to the newest station on his rotation, National Public Radio. It had surprised him, how he’d gotten caught up in so many discussions that had nothing to do with the business. Tonight they were talking about happiness. A professor from Harvard had written a book on the subject. The program turned out to be interesting and if it hadn’t been so late when he got to Bats and Balls, he’d have listened to the end.
Instead, after grabbing his baseball cap from the backseat, he headed inside, optimistic that this decision had been a good one.
His gaze went straight to her table. There she was. Gwen hadn’t noticed him yet. She was busy talking to Holly. From the excitement on Gwen’s face, he was pretty sure she had her copy of Sunday’s program laid out on the table. He wondered if she’d laminated every page yet.
Ah. He’d been spotted. Gwen’s head moved up, her eyes locked on to his. For a split second, there was hesitation there, an almost wince, then it was gone. Holly waved him on as she scooted over to an empty seat at the table.
“I told her you’d be here. I even got you a machine, see?”
Holly held it up, a symbol of good faith.
“Thank you.” He sat down, squeezing between the two women. “I had to see if I could do it again.”
“I wouldn’t count on it, big guy,” Gwen said. “You got lucky last week.”
“If I were a gentleman, I’d agree with you. But the hell with that. I trounced your ass.”
Gwen’s eyes narrowed, but she had trouble maintaining the scowl. “I’ll let that go, but only because you introduced me to Saito.”
“Phew.” He looked around for the waitress, but he’d have to wait.
“God, Paul, Gwen hasn’t shut up about yesterday.” Holly looked different from last Monday. Ah. Makeup. Mostly around her eyes. And her curly blond hair was pinned up. She must have come right from work. Her blouse and skirt were a bit too dressy for Bats and Balls. “I swear she was stopping complete strangers on the street and telling them how she met her fabulous Dodgers.” Holly gave him a very dramatic eye roll. “I mean, really. If it had been Brad Pitt, that would be a whole different story.”
“Oh, then you probably don’t want this.” He put the baseball cap on the table making sure Holly saw Garciaparra’s signature.
“Are you kidding me?” She looked from the hat to him, then back to the hat. “This is for me?”
He turned the cap slightly so she could see where it said, “To Holly.”
She burst into a ferocious grin, grabbed the hat then leaned over and gave him a big kiss on the cheek.
“You’re welcome.”
She leaned past him. “Gwen, did you see?”
Paul turned to her. He hoped for…he wasn’t sure what, but the look Gwen gave him came damn close. Huh. She must have come right from work, too. She was in pants and blouse, very feminine and nice. Like Holly, she’d done something different with her makeup. Subtle, but well-done. She looked prettier. Had her hair always been that soft blond?
Gwen eyed the baseball cap. “I didn’t know you’d gotten that. I, on the other hand, was a complete selfish bitch who thought of no one but myself.”
“You weren’t supposed to think of anything else. That was my job.”
She didn’t respond. Simply looked at him for a long while, but he had the feeling there was something important going on inside that brain of hers.
“Anyway,” he said when he felt heat creep up his neck. “Where is that waitress? I’m dying for a Heinie.”
Gwen laughed out loud. “Knowing this waitress, I’m pretty sure you can get it.”
“Heineken. Heineken. Jeez, make one little slip of the tongue—”
“I repeat, knowing this waitress…”
Everyone at the table found that one particularly hilarious, which made Paul wonder about this waitress. When he looked back at Gwen, her smile had faded but her interest in him hadn’t. It was as if she was seeing him now for the first time. Either that, or he had something weird on his face. “Is everything all right?”
She nodded.
“You keep staring at me.”
“Sorry. I keep wondering about you. It’s odd to me that you’re here.”
“I can leave.”
“No. I’m glad you’re here.”
He rolled his eyes a bit. “I’m overwhelmed.”
“Stop. I had the best time yesterday. I should have said that first thing. It was a spectacular day.”
“It was pretty great. We’ll have to do it again, sometime.”
She looked down, then past him. Her arm went up to call the infamous waitress, who came over. The woman had enormous breasts. She’d probably tried out for Hooters but the T-shirts wouldn’t stretch enough. He’d actually never seen breasts that large in real life.
“Hey, gorgeous,” she said, her voice kind of scratchy, as if she’d just come back from her cigarette break. “I sure haven’t seen you here before.”
Now that he was looking at her face, he saw she was older, maybe early forties. “Heineken for me. And refill the table.”
The waitress, Carla according to her name tag, winked at him, leaving a tiny smudge of mascara on her cheek. “A hunk and generous. Ain’t that a pisser.” She walked off with a sashay that Autumn would have envied.
“Game’s gonna start in a few minutes, Newbie,” Gwen said. “Better get ready.”
“I’m always ready.”
Gwen’s look told him he’d better watch the clichés. Funny, that line would have garnered a deliciously salacious response from Autumn. Or from most of the women he knew.
This was a different crowd with different sensibilities, and he felt like a foreigner learning the language.
It was weird, too, because he’d been in all kinds of social situations. With Yale professors, multimillionaires, CEOs, even minor royalty. Yet none of that experience helped him here.
Maybe it was because they all worked together? No, he’d hardly spoken to any of them, except Gwen and Holly. In fact, Holly didn’t make him feel this way.
It was Gwen, then. She made him feel awkward. He never felt awkward. His job, in fact, was to make other people feel awkward. Or comfortable. Or whatever he damn well wanted them to feel. Now that the shoe was on the other foot, he looked at his talent in a new light.
“Hello?”
Paul’s gaze snapped up to meet Gwen’s. “Sorry, what?”
“Log in if you want to play.”
He turned his attention to the machine, and a few moments later, to the game. And his drink. The other people at the table as they thanked him for the round. Anything but Gwen.
HER MOUTH WAS OPEN, but nothing was coming out. Mostly because she couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. Holly, the woman previously known as Gwen’s best friend, had just told Paul that she couldn’t drive Gwen home. Despite the fact that she’d driven them both to work. Despite the fact that they lived in the same apartment complex. The excuse was obviously fake, but did that stop her?
“I’ll be happy to take her home,” Paul said. “Even though she beat me.”
“By two points,” Holly said, pushing in her chair and fitting her purse strap on her shoulder, the better to make her escape. “I have to run. Thanks, Paul. See you tomorrow, Gwen. Bye.”
So now she was standing next to Paul with nothing but a giant slice of awkward between them.
“It’s no big deal. It’s not as if you live in Connecticut.”
“I don’t want to inconvenience you especially since you had no choice.”
He pushed his seat in, picked up his machine and Holly’s, and they left. “I don’t mind.”
“Thanks.”
As they passed Carla, she gave Paul a lascivious grin. Paul barely noticed.
He made the lights of his Mercedes flash with his remote as they hit the parking lot. It wasn’t as warm as it should have been in April.
Paul glanced at her as they circled a behemoth truck. “I’ve got a jacket in the car.”
“Thanks, I’m fine.”
They reached his car, and he was very gentlemanly, as always, and yet the touch of his hand on the small of her back made her shiver. It was becoming something of an issue, these butterflies. Whether his hand landed on her arm or her back, it didn’t seem to matter. Alarmingly, tonight, in the middle of the game, all it had taken was meeting his gaze. She’d like to blame it on his looks alone, but even she’d stopped believing that. Something was happening here, and she had no idea what to do about it.
Once he was behind the wheel, he started the engine and the heater at the same time. The radio came on, too. She recognized the voice from NPR, but he turned that off before she could identify a topic.
“NPR, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m a fan, too.”
He got them out of the lot and on the way to her place with a minimum of fuss. She stole glances as he drove, the silence in the car not all that uncomfortable, except for, well…She put her hand on her tummy. It occurred to her that things had changed yesterday. He’d been so thoughtful. Gracious. Downright adorable. Dammit. And then today when he’d given that cap to Holly. She sighed. Baseball had leveled the field. There was a common ground between them and yep, that had taken their relationship into a whole new direction.
So much so, that she hadn’t thought about her sister more than a couple of times tonight. The evening had been really fun. Winning had been great, yes, but that wasn’t all of it. He’d laughed at Steph’s jokes, and Kenny’s, too. He’d been made fun of, and he’d accepted the ribbing with humor.
Yet, was he worth knowing? Outside of baseball, was there anything in him that she could admire? Did it matter?
They pulled into her apartment complex just as she decided that it did matter if she were to become friends with him. She didn’t take friendship lightly.
He found a parking spot pretty close to her apartment. As she grabbed the door handle, he turned to her. “Are you happy?”
She stopped. Debated laughing off the question, but didn’t. “Yeah. For the most part, I am. Why?”
Paul turned off the engine. “Do you think it’s because you’re close to your colleagues?”
She exhaled, curious. “That’s part of it, I guess.”
“What else?”
“I haven’t thought about it all that much. I like my work, but it’s not my whole universe. I’m usually busy. I play trivia, I go to old horror flicks, my book club once a month. I watch way too many games, but I guess it doesn’t matter because who cares? I don’t spend a lot of time dwelling.”
