answered.
“It’s Diego, right?” she asked, waiting for his nod before she turned to the older gentleman. “And Señor Pérez?”
The keyboardist tipped his head in greeting. He made a few smart suggestions about the playlist order and Julia jotted down the notes. After reassuring her they’d return the following week, they exchanged farewells, then the two volunteers headed out with their instruments.
That left her and Ben alone in the empty classroom.
The sound of the musicians’ footsteps faded, blending with the murmur of voices drifting down the hallway from the common area.
Hands in his pockets, Ben swiveled on the heels of his leather work boots to face her. He rocked forward on his toes, leaning closer. “Looks like it’s just you and me now.”
That intense scrutiny was back in his expression. Like a scientist studying an intriguing specimen, he honed in on her.
His interest was clear. No way was she misreading the gleam in his eyes.
The tilt of his body, the teasing quirk of his mouth . . . they were all signs she’d learned to read. Read and avoid. She didn’t have time for relationships and the drama. Her sights were set on landing a permanent position here in Chicago.
“Um, yes, I guess it is.” She shuffled a step to the side, moving in the direction of the door. “Thanks again for sitting in tonight. You were a hit with the kids.” She combed her hair back, brushing it over her shoulders. “I should get going. Need to either call for an Uber or start the walk to the train station.”
“Don’t do that. I can drive you.”
She waved off his offer. Mostly for her own sanity. “That’s okay. My place is out of your way.”
“How do you know that?” Ben drew back, his brows angling with confusion.
Julia gave a mental head shake at her slip of the tongue.
She knew because her fanatic younger brother had read, often out loud, every article he came across that mentioned Ben. Including the one about him and several other teammates who lived near Wrigley Field, where they enjoyed walking or biking to the ballpark.
Not that she’d admit to knowing that much about him. No need to sound like a stalker.
“Um . . .” Ave María purísima, how to explain this one. Hail Mary full of grace indeed.
Ben tilted his head in question, waiting.
“Umm, I just figured. Assumed, I guess?” Lame answer if she’d ever given one.
“I’m in the Wrigleyville area. The Southport Corridor neighborhood, actually,” Ben said, lifting his left shoulder in a half shrug. “But I don’t mind taking you wherever—”
“You see? I’m downtown, in the opposite direction. Thanks anyway.” She flashed him a smile meant to cover her own uncharacteristic awkwardness.
“I was going to say, it doesn’t matter. I can drive you. No need to wait for a car or take the L when I’m free, and willing, to give you a lift.”
There was really no good reason for her to refuse his offer.
Bueno, other than her own sanity. But he didn’t know that.
Unbelievably, Julia found herself drawn to an athlete. Despite her vows to never let that happen.
After living with three her entire life, you would think she’d had enough of their smelly uniforms stinking up the house. Their annoying habit of tossing baseballs back and forth or, God forbid, bouncing a rubber ball against the wall between their rooms. The superstitions, the confidence that often crept into cockiness and, even worse, the competitive drive that seeped into every single aspect of their lives.
Yet, she’d seen none of those last ones from Ben.
In fact, he’d been generous with his time and quick with his laughter, even poking fun at himself when he’d flubbed some of the Spanish lyrics that ran together like a tongue twister.
“So, what do you say? Shall I be your chauffeur home?”
Ben did that lean-in move again, an expectant, hopeful expression lighting his handsome face, and . . . ay, Ave María purísima, if she didn’t want to meet him halfway. Erase the distance between them and steal a kiss.
The very idea had her drawing back with a jolt.
“A simple ride home among new friends,” Ben said. “That’s all.”
As if he sensed her teetering on the edge between yes and no, but didn’t want to push her, Ben scooped up the strap of the black shoulder bag with the small percussion instruments. She noticed he slung it over his left, noninjured shoulder and she wondered if his right one might be feeling sore.
“You sure you don’t mind?” she asked.
Waiting