Page 61 of Hard Hitter
“Sure thing.”
The rest of the short trip passed in silence. O’Doul paid the fare and held the door open for Ariana. “If you change your mind I’ll walk you home.” Hell. She’d asked him for an escort, and he’d dragged her back to his lair.
“I’m good. Don’t worry.”
The doorman welcomed them home, and Ari glanced around the lobby. “Who else lives in your building, anyway?”
“Hugh Major, Coach Worthington...”
“What?”
“I’m kidding, yogi. You clearly don’t want to be seen with a guy who has eight new stitches.”
“Eight?” she gasped.
He waved a hand, dismissing her concern. “Leo and Georgia. Massey. Castro. I think that’s it right now. This building is convenient as hell. But nobody has as short a commute as you.”
“My commute is a New Yorker’s dream,” Ari agreed. “When I heard about this job opening up I thought I’d never get it. Everything about it was too perfect. When Henry called to tell me I could have it if I wanted it, it was really hard not to start squealing like a preteen at her slumber party.”
O’Doul laughed, and it made his ribs hurt. He escorted her out of the elevator and down the hallway to his door. The sound of his key unlatching the door was the best thing he’d heard all day. “I’ll get the Scotch,” he said. “You’re in, right?”
“Sure,” she said. “But let me get it. You sit.”
He hesitated. “I didn’t invite you up to wait on me.”
“God, I know. Just sit down already. My own neck hurts just looking at you. Your gait is off.”
She stalked into his kitchen, and his eyes followed her. “The Scotch is...”
“Over the refrigerator,” she finished.
Right. He took off his suit coat and hung it up in his bedroom closet.
“You have tequila, too,” she called.
“Uh-huh. There are limes in the fridge.”
“How would you feel about a margarita?” she asked. “I do good work.”
“I’m in,” he said. “If you’re mixing it, I’m drinking it.” He dropped trou and stepped into a pair of sweatpants. He took off his damn tie and finally began to feel like a human.
She was pouring their drinks from his cocktail shaker over ice when he joined her in the kitchen. How odd to see a woman standing there, humming to herself in his space. He liked it. A lot. He put a hand to the back of her neck.“Thank you, sweetheart. Are you hungry at all? I could order something from the twenty-four hour diner.” He usually ate at the bar after a home game.
“I’m good, but you go ahead.”
He decided to skip it. “Let’s sit.” He picked up both cocktails.
“Hang on.” Ari stopped him so that she could add a wedge of lime to the rim of each glass. “There.” She was so freaking cute.
He hid his smile by turning away, carrying their drinks toward the sofa.
She sat beside him. “Here’s to the end of a shitty night.”
“We drink to that a lot, you and me.” He touched his glass to hers.
“Truth.” She took a sip, and then another one. “Let me work on your neck.” She handed him her glass and got up, skirting the sofa to stand behind him. “Put your elbows up on the back of the sofa.”
He did it, a glass in each hand. “This’s just so you can reach your drink, right?”
