But then she blurted, “Let’s go out for a drink,” and I paused mid-stride.

I turned just my head to look at her, certain I’d misheard. “Pardon?”

She chewed on her lip. “Sorry. I meant that to be a question. Do you . . . do you want to go somewhere and have a drink with me?” Her eyes were on my chin, and she spoke slowly and carefully, as though forcing herself to say the words.

I glanced around to look for cameras, because this had to be a joke. No hello. No how are you? Just straight to asking me out for a drink.

But just in case this was for real, and this intriguing woman actually was asking me out, I kept my tone soft as I gently reminded, “I don’t drink, Eilish. I’m two years sober.”

“Forks!” she exclaimed, squeezing her eyes shut. “Right, yeah. Sorry, I forgot. Well, I didn’t forget I’m just—Sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry. No harm, no foul.” I took a step toward her, just barely restraining the urge to place a comforting hand on her shoulder, or grab her hand, or give myself a high-five.

Whoa, don’t get ahead of yourself.

She looked extremely nervous, so I dismissed the idea of a self-congratulatory high-five. Though I could have done so if I’d been quiet, she couldn’t see me because her eyes were still shut.

“We could go for coffee?” she suggested, finally meeting my eyes, and there was something about the intensity in hers, almost like she was pleading with me not to make it a big deal, that had me nodding automatically, albeit warily.

“Eh, sure, coffee sounds good.” What the hell is going on?

“Right, great. Is now okay?”

Now?

“Now?”

She nodded fervently. “Yes, now.”

“Well, I’m done for the day so I guess . . . yeah. We can take my car.” I was responding on autopilot because my brain was too preoccupied trying to figure out what was happening.

“All right. Lead the way.” She motioned me forward with her hand and, casting her one more bewildered glance, I led the way.

Nothing about this makes sense. Unless . . .

“Hey, Eilish?”

She glanced up at me as we walked. “Yes?”

“Is everything okay? Connors hasn’t been acting up again, has he?”

She shook her head. “No, no, nothing like that.”

“You need a kidney, or something?”

She sputtered a surprised laugh. “Of course not.”

“Blood transfusion? I’m type A negative if you were wondering.”

“Bryan, I don’t need an organ transplant or a blood transfusion. I don’t even want you to pay for the coffee. I just need to talk to you someplace not here.”

“Well, I’m definitely paying for the coffee, but what do you want to talk about?”

She glanced from side to side, like there were listening ears all about. “I’ll tell you when we get to the coffee shop. Just, can we go somewhere at least a few miles away? It’s a subject of a sensitive nature.”

“Sure.” I was even more confused now. What on earth could she possibly have to say to me that was of a sensitive nature?

And, so, was this a date?

Or no . . .?

In a baffled daze, we made it to the garage and I opened her door. She slipped in, and wordlessly I pulled out of the sports complex. The car drive was silent, my mind awash with curiosity. It was also awash with plans, ways I could turn this impromptu coffee date into a real date.

I glanced at her and allowed my eyes to move over her form. Even buzzing with nervous energy, being close to her felt . . . nice.

I could do this. I could make the moves on her, show her I was nothing like her son’s father. I might be rusty, but I still knew a thing or two.

Or three things. But not more than three.

I knew I should’ve turned the radio on when my stomach made a loud grumble. I glanced at Eilish and saw the side of her mouth had curved just slightly.

“You ever notice how your gut always waits for absolute silence to do that?” I asked lightly. “It’s like it wants to achieve optimum embarrassment.”

She nodded and shot me a smile. “Yeah. It used to always happen to me in school during tests.” She paused, looking me over. “You haven’t eaten since lunch, have you?”

“Nah, but don’t worry about it. I’ll eat when I get home.”

She considered me a moment. “We can get something now, if you want. I don’t mind.”

My mouth shaped into a grin at this opening. “Is this a sneaky ploy to lure me into a dinner date? Because if it is, I’m in.”

“No! It’s not, I swear. This is definitely not a date. I just know how important it is for you guys to eat at regular intervals. Don’t tell him I told you this, but Sean sometimes carries cooked chicken breasts around with him in sealed food bags in case he gets peckish.”

I chuckled to cover my frustration at her insisting this wasn’t a date. “Really? Next time I see him I’ll have to ask if he’d like to share his breasts with the rest of the team.”

Eilish’s cheeks reddened. “Please don’t.”

“But it’s not fair, keeping those succulent bosoms all to himself,” I went on, hoping my flirting attempt wasn’t unwelcomed.

“Bryan,” she pleaded, and there was something about my name on her lips that woke my dick up.

Go back to sleep, eager. Nothing to see here.