“Hello,” he says. His voice is smooth as Scotch with an edge of a southern accent.
“Can I help you?” I ask tartly. I can’t decide whether to resist my attraction to this stranger, give into the sour mood of the evening, or to throw caution to the wind.
“Just looking for some air,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “That allowed up here?” That cocky glance he shoots me makes my heart leap. This decision is growing easier by the second. After all, the best way to get over my bad mood is to throw myself into the opportunity to take this new year by the horns and see where the ride takes me. Jackson, consider this revenge.
“As a matter of fact, it’s free and all around. Help yourself.” A smile tickles the edges of my lips. He chuckles, and I press on, turning to face him. “So what brings you up here tonight?”
“It’s a little too crowded downstairs.” He smirks as though he’s not telling me the whole story. “And you?”
I smile coyly. I’m more than happy to play whatever games he’s interested in. “Same thing.”
Silence lulls between us. I hear the cheers of the crowd below, celebrating and dancing as midnight inches closer. The skyline twinkles, pulling at my attention, but this stranger is too arresting to look away. “So,” I say, trying to crack through the pause, “how about them Yankees?”
I’m cringing internally at the lame joke, but to my surprise, he throws his head back and laughs. “What?” I ask.
He slides down the railing to stand closer to me. “Cooper Knox,” he says. “I play for the Yankees.”
Of course. Just my damn luck. A baseball player.
I work in football—a real sport. Not only was my opening line totally corny, given the fact that he actually plays for the Yankees, but I’m also not nearly as impressed as he probably thinks I am. Baseball, for me, is just a slight step above golf.
He holds his hand and I stare at it. “Unfortunately, my colleagues at work would officially disown me if I so much as shook your hand.” I imagine the look on the guys’ faces if they knew who I was with right now. Baseball is one thing, tolerable at the very least, but a Yankee baseball player positions Knox just below a golfer in their eyes.
But his name jiggles something in the back of my mind. Knox…Knox… I’d seen the name before—and not just scrolling across the bottom of the screen while I watched football. I frown, trying to remember.
Knox sees the look on my face and it’s like he’s prepared for it. “Don’t tell me. You’re one of those poor souls.”
I raise an eyebrow. “A poor soul?”
“A Red Sox fan.”
“It’s not so much a Red Sox fan,” I say, not missing a beat, “as just vehemently-not-a-baseball fan.”
He drops his hand with a smirk, tucking it back into his pocket. Despite my quip, I can’t help but wish I’d taken it, wish I could lace my fingers in between his. Knox leans against the roof’s railing and shrugs. The contours of his muscles strain against his well-cut shirt. “I’ve been told the Yankees are America’s team.”
“If any team is gonna be America’s team it’s The Falcons. That’s football, you know, a real sport.”
“Baseball isn’t a real sport?”
“Not at all.”
“Then fill me in. What have I been doing for the last several years of my life?” He takes a step towards me and I inch forward as well. I can feel the heat emanating from him and want nothing more but to be closer.
“Playing a backwards sport. Making errors instead of penalties. What even is that?” This is a favorite routine of mine. It’s guaranteed to get the guys at work in hysterics every time, but I’ve never tried it out with an actual ball player before. “Let’s not start on how the offense can’t touch the ball.” I put a hand on the railing, leaving it open and ready for him to take. I can’t say it’s my smoothest move, but I’m a little out of practice after all. “Basically, you’re being lied to, possibly being indoctrinated into a cult. Have you sought professional help?”
Knox’s face is stone cold, a hardened seriousness betrayed only by the glint of amusement in his eye. “Does talking to you count?”
“As a matter of fact, it does.”
He leans in just a bit, bending down so that he’s on my level. His lips are so near mine, the top one slightly smaller than the bottom. It would be so easy to lean in and kiss him. Run my tongue across his jawline and thread my fingers through his hair.
“That’s mighty generous of you.” He pours on the southern charm, deepening his twang.