“No,” she answers and then looks up at me through her eyelashes. “Maybe.”

Hope springs in my chest from that one simple word.

Maybe.

There’s a goddamn chance, which means I can’t push her. I need to take today as a win and keep slowly gaining her trust.

“Okay, well, good to know.” I smile, release her hand, and pick up another éclair.

“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say? Good to know?”

“Yup.”

“What kind of game are you playing, Bisley?”

Game? The only person who would say that is someone insecure in relationships. And after the short conversation I had with her about her parents, I can guarantee you that question stems from the toxicity of the household she grew up in.

So I need to reassure her. She’s delicate, fragile, and having spent more time with her, I can see the baggage she carries on her shoulders. Slowly and surely, I need to gently lift that off so she can be free. So she can enjoy life and take part in a relationship—something I know she wants when I look her in the eyes.

Taking a chance, I lightly cup her cheek. Keeping her eyes locked on mine, I say, “Myla, I can guarantee you one thing, the only game I play is baseball. Nothing else.”

“How can I trust that?” she asks, her expression unsure.

“You’re just going to have to get to know me to understand. That will take some time, time I’m willing to put in.” I release her cheek and say, “Let’s pack these up, and I’ll walk you out.”

* * *

Ryot.Bisley.Balls: I feel comfortable telling you this. I’ve already eaten every éclair I took home.

DrinkWithMe: It’s been two hours.

Ryot.Bisley.Balls: I didn’t say I was proud of what I’ve done, just that I’m comfortable telling you.

DrinkWithMe: I would like to say I’m horrified by the volume of pastries you’ve consumed today, but I think your body needed it. Too many muscles.

Ryot.Bisley.Balls: I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone complain about too many muscles before. And how would you know . . . unless you were checking out my Instagram feed?

DrinkWithMe: The thirst traps might have caught my eye.

Ryot.Bisley.Balls: If you want, I can send you your own personal thirst traps—and not like a dick pic or anything.

DrinkWithMe: Why not? Send me a dick pic. Let me catch a glimpse of that peen.

Ryot.Bisley.Balls: I’ll send you a dick pic when you go out on a date with me.

DrinkWithMe: Is that a promise?

Ryot.Bisley.Balls: It could be. Let me think about it. I don’t think I’m quite ready to ask you out yet.

DrinkWithMe: Oh, I see. You have éclairs with me, and then you decide to play hard to get? Is that how this is going to work?

Ryot.Bisley.Balls: No, when I had éclairs with you, I saw that I might have a chance at taking you out. But I won’t pressure you. I’m trying to gain your trust first.