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I swallow as my heart beats wildly in my chest and decide to go the friendly route instead of flirty. “But we could! What’s your favorite color?” I ask, hoping it’ll get him to stop.
“Lavender,” he calls out, walking up the stairs and out of sight.
Okay, that is definitely not the answer I anticipated. I was expecting it to be black.
I take a sip of water and mull over our conversation, feeling remnants of whiplash. One second, he said he wanted me in his space, and then the next, he walked away, telling me he didn’t want to be friends. Which one is it?
As I turn my attention back to the bag I was using before he showed up, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and freeze when I realize my matching sports bra and biker shorts are lavender.
My romantic heart makes my brain run wild with ideas that he said lavender because it’s what I was wearing, and the color I often like to wear. But I try to bring myself back to earth and remind myself that he probably just likes the color. He’s a tattoo artist, and maybe it’s his mom’s favorite flower?
That must be it, because there’s no way a guy like Ryker would ever be into a girl like me. We’re just too different. I like gardening, boxing, singing a little too loudly in the shower, and doing the occasional latte art when I have time.
Ryker seems to be built with jagged edges and no softness in sight. He has a temper from what I’ve seen on the field and is known as the team’s asshole. Total opposite of me. Except for the night he stepped in for me at the club. He was different then.
Regardless, I need to not analyze his comment and let it go. I’ll be professional and do my job, and if I can get him to like me as a friend in the process, that’ll be a bonus point.
Chapter Seven
Ryker
“
O
wwwww!” Theo yelps, his forehead glistening with sweat as I finish up the last bit of his tattoo.
“You’re fine,” I tell him, wiping away the residual ink. I press the needle back into his skin, the buzzing sound providing me with a sense of peace.
“You didn’t tell me this shit hurts, man.” Theo half chuckles, half squeals.
“You didn’t tell me you were going to be such a baby about it,” I mutter.
“This is my first and last tattoo. If I come to you in two months saying differently, remind me of this, please.”
“How’s your nephew doing?” I ask to get his mind off the needle.
“He’s good, just learning how to walk. Naturally, my sister and her husband are stressed because he’s getting into everything at the farm. He also loves helping my dad feed the goats.”
“If that kid is anything like you, he will try to get his hands into everything at that farm.”
He rolls his eyes, his fingers working with the fidget in his hand. “I just have a lot of energy. Sue me.”
Ever since we were kids, he always needed to keep his hands occupied and now uses a small fidget cube to keep for that.
“How’s it going with Camille and the team?” he asks, nearly making me fuck up his tattoo.
“It’s only been a few days, and there isn’t much to do since it’s spring training, so I haven’t seen her at all.” Which is true. I haven’t seen her since that night in the gym where I said more than I should’ve.
I couldn’t help it. Seeing her in that little sports bra and shorts, her skin glistening while she pounded the bag, made it hard not to. It should be a fucking crime to wear that and look that good in public. It pissed me off and made me say shit I shouldn’t have, like admitting I wanted her to be in my space and that my favorite color was the exact shade of her little outfit.
“I know she’s working hard on some things for y’all to do for social media.”
“Yeah, I won’t be doing any of that,” I scoff. I play baseball. That’s it.
“If you want to be drafted, you will. Organizations eat that shit up now. They want a player they can market and make money off of. Someone who will do silly videos and attract sponsors,” he continues to explain my worst nightmare.
“I’ll cross that bridge when I have to.”
