Page 80 of Resist

“Vaughn? You gonna serve your drinks, or do I have to cover for your ass?” Melissa calls down the hallway with a laugh.

“Coming.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

Vaughn

“Please tell me my eyes are not deceiving me,” I say with a laugh as I cover my mouth and shake my head.

“What?” Ryker asks with his hands out to his side. “You think you can tell a man, ‘Meet me at 161 First Street in the Bronx,’ and he’s not going to know it’s Yankee Stadium?”

“That’s not what I—” I come to a stop a few feet in front of him, take in his Boston Red Sox hat and T-shirt, and wonder if he’s wearing it because he’s looking for a fight tonight or he really likes the Yankees’ rivals. “You’re joking, right?”

His laugh says that he’s not. “Only if you’re joking with me about being a Yankees fan.” But when he steps up and kisses my cheek, I know I’d be any kind of fan he wanted so long as I get that fluttery feeling in my belly again.

“We do live in New York.”

“I’m aware.” He tugs down on the brim of my hat. “I like this look on you.”

My smile is unstoppable right now. “Well, let’s hope you get to keep your hat where we’re sitting.”

“Where are we sitting?”

“Over the Yankees’ dugout.” I laugh, more than pleased I was able to score a set of always-sold-out tickets. It pays to have a Yankees player on my client list.

“Seriously?” The smile on Ryker’s face right now—the one that’s every bit little boy in love with the game and nothing like the severe, calculating lawyer I’ve come to know—does funny things to my insides.

“Seriously.” I nod as he reaches out and puts his hand in mine as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I had a friend who couldn’t make it, so he offered them to me.” It’s close enough to the truth, anyway.

“How did you know I’m a huge baseball fan?”

“I didn’t.”

“Well, at least we can agree on one thing—the love of baseball. Other things,” he says as he eyes my fan gear up and down, “I’m not so sure about.”

I bat at his arm playfully and laugh as we start to walk into the stadium. “Dare I ask?”

“What’s that?” he asks as the scent of stadium food—popcorn and hot dogs and nachos—and the sounds of “Get your game program right here” assault us.

“It might be a game changer for me.”

“Uh-oh,” he says and smacks his hands together and rubs them. “Lay it on me, Vaughn.”

“Popcorn or peanuts? Nachos with or without jalapeños? Pretzel or churro? Beer or soda?”

He throws his head back and laughs as his arm comes around my shoulder and pulls me against him. “You want to know all of the important stuff, don’t you?”

I stop walking, and it halts the both of us. “No. The important stuff would have been knowing you’re rooting for the enemy.” Someone around us sounds off in agreement with me. “This? This is just to see if you can partially redeem yourself for being a traitor.”

That laugh again. The way his hand grips my shoulder. The heat of his body beside me.

“Let’s see. Hmm. Popcorn for sure. It’s always better if it’s caramel popcorn, but beggars can’t be choosers. Definitely jalapeños with the nachos. Churro. Always a churro. I have an endless sweet tooth. And what was the other one? Beer. I’m a guy—that answer should have been expected.”

I stare up at him. At the amusement in his eyes. At the relaxed smile on his lips.

“You do know if someone throws a punch at you for rooting for the Sox, I won’t defend you.”

“I do believe those are the most romantic words I’ve ever heard.”