“You just tell me when, babe.”

Seems like no time has been lost between them despite the few years that have gone by.

Still confused about why I’m seeing Myla, I ask again, “What are you doing here?”

“What do you mean? Trivia night of course.”

“No, in Chicago,” I say as Nichole takes a seat next to Banner and starts running her hand through his hair. Doubt there will be any brotherly time spent tonight now.

“Oh . . .” Myla pulls her stool toward mine and takes a seat. “I live here now.”

“You . . . you live here?” I ask, shocked. I take a seat too. And just as she’s done before, Myla steals my drink and starts sipping on it. “Did you just move?”

“No. I’ve been here for about a year now. Nichole got a job out here with a major tech company, and my parents live just north of Barrington now that they’re retired from the Air Force, so I thought what the hell, I’ll move too.”

“Wait, so you’ve been here for a year, and you didn’t think to message me?”

She just shrugs. “If our paths crossed, then they crossed.” She smirks. “And looks like that happened.” She sets my beer down, pulls out her phone, and takes a picture of it. “This is being listed as a beer belonging to a baller.”

How can she act so casual? As if seeing me is just a normal, everyday thing? I know we didn’t make any promises to each other, nor were we in any sort of relationship, but hell, I’m a little shook from seeing her.

After the thrill of being called up to the Majors and packing, I sat on my red-eye to Chicago thinking about how I’d bolted out of the bar and away from Myla before I could actually process it all. Guilt consumed me, and when I landed, I messaged her on Instagram and apologized for bolting. I told her if she was ever in Chicago to contact me.

She never wrote back.

And clearly, she never contacted me. Maybe she has a boyfriend?

I thought that she was mad, had moved on, or just didn’t see the value in continuing our conversation. I still kept up with her drink pictures, and though I thought about her often, I never said anything because, well, I didn’t want to badger her. She was in Phoenix, and I was in Chicago, so not much could be done.

But now that she’s here . . .

She sets her phone down and looks up at me. Her beautiful eyes study what I can only imagine is a perplexed expression. “Why the scowl?” she asks, motioning to my forehead.

“I’m sorry.” I shake my head, trying to rid myself of my thoughts. “I’m just confused is all. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Aw.” She places her hand on my thigh and leans forward. “Are you flustered?”

“A little.” I chuckle.