“They always have big servings there, and I swear they make it even bigger because they’re fans.”

“Ooo, do you go to many places that like the Bobbies?”

“Not on purpose. I go to places I like. Some of them boo me when I walk in because they’re Rebels fans, but I take it as a compliment more than anything.”

“I’m assuming you don’t care for the attention from the way you seem so levelheaded,” I say as he hands me a spoon and sets the ice cream between us.

I turn toward him, cross-legged, as he stretches out and uses his arm closest to me to prop himself up. “I don’t seek it out, nor do I shy away from it. I want to ensure the fans know I appreciate them, so I wave if someone calls my name. If someone stops me, I take a selfie. If someone asks for an autograph, I sign it. And sure, I might have gotten to where I am because of hard work, but the fans play a big role in my confidence, so I owe them.”

“Wow, you really are levelheaded. Any show boaters on your team?”

“Penn Cutler. He’s a pitcher. I figured you wouldn’t know that.”

“Yeah, I barely know that you play third base.”

He chuckles. “Well, Penn is big on showboating, and the fans eat him up for it. Helps that he’s really fucking good.”

“Did he pitch today?” I take another bite of this luscious butterscotch sundae and nearly melt from how good it is. I’m going to have to tell Nichole about this place.

“No, he pitched yesterday.”

“Oh, does that mean he can’t pitch today?”

He chuckles again and sighs. “Man, I’m going to have to give you a whole course on baseball, aren’t I?”

“When I said I knew nothing, I meant it. I think today was the first time I sat through a whole game and paid attention. I followed the crowd. One guy behind me shouted fuck at one point, and I proceeded to shout fuck as well, thinking I was cheering with the Bobbies. Apparently, that was not the case. One of his players on the other team struck out.”

“You rooting against us, Myla?” He mischievously grins.

“Not on purpose. I made up for it after when you scored. I did an old whoop whoop.” I circle my fist in the air, causing him to laugh.

“A whoop whoop makes up for anything.”

“That’s what I thought.”

* * *

“So what have you been doing these last few weeks with me not bothering you?” he asks.

“Just working, saving my tips, and planning what I want to do with my life.”

“Any thoughts?” he asks.

“Yeah, I have some,” I say shyly.

We barely, and I mean barely, finished the ice cream. Ryot took care of the garbage, and then when I thought we were going to leave, he lay back on the blanket. He now has one hand propping up his head as he talks, distracting me with how his bicep pops against his shirtsleeve.