“Casillas.”
Holy shit. My name came out of his—Poop.
I glanced at him over my shoulder; this wasn’t a big deal. So he’d said my name when I didn’t think another player’s name had crossed his lips… hell. Ever?
“I would appreciate it,” his deep voice insisted.
I didn’t say a word. I just jerked on the handle again.
His forearm flexed as he held my door down. “I can pay you,” he offered casually.
The hell?
No one in my life had ever offered to give me money for doing them a favor, because it wasn’t necessary. Here was a person who made more money retired than I would in a decade. He had a freaking driver, yet he wanted to pay me to give him a ride.
Ugh.
What was I doing? I might feel like a badass right now telling him that I wouldn’t take him home, or wherever he was going, but later on there was no doubt I’d feel like an asshole for not doing a favor that was easily within my reach. I didn’t want to be that person who was an asshole just to be an asshole; it wouldn’t make me any better than this jerk off.
I fought the urge to tip my head back and groan; instead I let out a resigned sigh and waved him on. “I’ll take you.”
Kulti blinked and then quickly nodded, getting in. Wordlessly, I pulled out of the lot and made my way in the same direction we’d gone on Friday.
“Same place?” I asked with only the slightest hint of an attitude in my tone as I pulled onto the freeway.
“Yes” was his solitary answer.
All right. This time I did turn on the radio, and I drove quietly to the same house in the same family neighborhood I’d just been in.
Just as I was pulling over, he started shifting in his seat, and I glanced over to see him pulling a slim black wallet out.
Jesus. I pulled over to the curb in front of the square white stone home. “Don’t.”
His silence was deafening as he sat there, duffel on his lap, one hand on the car door, and the other holding a slim coffee-colored leather wallet.
“I’m giving you a ride as a favor. I don’t want your money,” I explained to him carefully.
He started to pull out a bill from his wallet regardless. “Hey, I’m not joking. I don’t want your money.”
Kulti started to shove a fifty at me. “Here.”
I reached up and cupped his hand, crushing the bill between us. “I don’t want it.”
“Take it.” He pushed against me. I pushed back. “No.”
“Stop being stubborn and take the money,” Kulti argued, his face exasperated.
Well, if he thought he was the only one getting aggravated, he was dead wrong. “I said no. I don’t want it. Just get out.”
It was his turn to start with the one-word replies. “No.”
Screw this. I put some muscle behind it and slowly started pushing our hands back toward him. Well, I made it two inches before he realized what I was doing and then began pushing back, only he was stronger and he advanced more than two inches.
“Quit it. I’m not joking. Take your money.” I grunted a little, putting more weight into my push, almost futilely.
Those green-brown eyes flicked up to meet mine with an even look that had annoyance written all over it. “I said I would pay you?—”
“I don’t want your money, you hardheaded ass.” Oh, dear God.
