Not a smile. Not a wistful look like she wishes she’d caught the game. Sherolls her eyesas though the whole thing is a nuisance, then goes back to fighting with the gate.
I stop walking.
That doesn’t happen. Women don’t look at Wildcat Stadium on opening night and actannoyed. They don’t hear fifty thousand people chanting my name and respond with visible disinterest. It’s against the natural order of things.
I must be staring, because she suddenly turns her head and catches me looking.
For a second, we lock eyes across the empty street. The stadium lights cast everything in harsh white, making the shadows sharper. I can’t read her expression from this distance, but I know she’s clocked me, the Wildcats cap, the duffel bag slung over my shoulder, the way I’m clearly coming from the stadium.
Her reaction?
She raises one eyebrow, distinctly unimpressed, and turns back to her gate.
What the hell?
I should keep walking. I have no reason to care what some random woman thinks of me, the game, or anything else. But my feet are already carrying me across the street before I can talk myself out of it.
“Need a hand with that?” I call out as I approach.
She doesn’t even turn around. “Nope.”
“Looks stuck.”
“It’s not stuck. It’s old.” She yanks the gate down another foot with a screech of metal on metal. “And I’ve got it.”
Up close, she’s even more striking with sharp cheekbones, a full mouth set in a line of concentration, and eyes that are some impossible shade between green and gold. The tattoo on her shoulder is a phoenix, rendered in blacks and grays so detailed that I can see individual feathers.
She finally gets the gate all the way down and locks it into place, then straightens up and looks at me properly for the first time.
“Can I help you with something?” Her tone makes it clear she has no intention of helping me with anything.
“Just being neighborly,” I say, flashing the smile that usually gets me exactly what I want. “Big game tonight. Figured everyone would be in a good mood.”
“That would require me caring about baseball.” She slings a leather bag over her shoulder and starts walking down the sidewalk, away from me.
I blink, then follow. “You’re kidding.”
“Why would I be kidding?”
“You work right across from Wildcat Stadium.”
“I work right across from a lot of things. Doesn’t mean I’m interested in all of them.” She keeps walking, not even glancing back.
This is truly fascinating. I can’t remember the last time someone has been this aggressively uninterested in engaging with me.
“So, the crowd noise doesn’t bother you?” I ask, catching up to walk beside her.
“I have noise-canceling headphones.”
“And the traffic?”
“I leave before the stadium lets out.Usually.” She shoots me a look that makes it clear I’m the reason she’s been delayed tonight. “Did you need something specific, or are you just practicing your small talk?”
“I’m Reece,” I say, extending a hand.
She glances at my hand as if it might bite her, then sighs and shakes it briefly. Her grip is firm, her palm marked with small scars, probably from her work. “Ava.”
“Nice to meet you, Ava.”
