Jonah (Chicago Blaze 7)

She shrugs and says, “Yeah, I know.”

“We’re not that far from my car, you want to turn around?”

“Please.”

We head back in the direction of my car, and she asks, “So how was your road trip? Did you guys win?”

“We did, 3–2.”

“That’s good.”

“Are you a sports fan?”

“Only baseball.”

We get to my Tesla SUV and I push the button on my key ring to open the doors, pulling on the handle of hers to open it and let her in. She puts a hand on my arm to steady herself as she steps in.

“Sorry,” she mutters. “It’s these fucking heels.”

“It’s all good.”

I walk around to the driver’s side and get in, starting up the car.

“Who’s your team?” I ask Rey.

She pauses from massaging one of her feet. “Hmm?”

“Baseball.”

“Oh. Dodgers all the way.”

“Yeah, I’m a White Sox guy. But we can get along since your team’s NL and mine’s AL.”

“Unless they meet up in the World Series.”

“Ain’t happening this year,” I remind her.

“True. Our pitching sucked ass this season.”

“Ever been to a hockey game?” I ask as I pull into traffic.

“No. You know anyone who could get me into one?”

I smile at the easy banter we have when we’re not at each other’s throats. “I might, if you play your cards right.”

Rey groans as she slides her shoe back on.

“Leave ‘em off,” I say. “We can pick up something curbside and eat in the car.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. I’ll survive.”

“We’ll get curbside,” I say. “Leave the shoes off.”

“I think we should go in somewhere where we can be seen together.”

“Another night,” I tell her.

She sighs in frustration. “Jonah—”

“Renee.”

“It’s Rey,” she says firmly.

“Another night,” I repeat. “Since you’re so hot to get in my pants, we’ll go out again tomorrow night. And the next night I have a game.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re the one who’s hot to get into mine,” she says in a teasing tone.

“Whatever you say.” I smile back at her.

Truth be told, Rey is my anti-type. Lily was different from her in every way. Not only did she have light blond hair and bright green eyes, she was the sweetest woman I’ve ever known. She was always smiling and rarely complained.

There’s no need to say that, though. Rey and I have already established we’re not compatible.

We drive around for about twenty minutes until I find the place I was looking for. Rey’s whole face lights up when we drive past it.

“Holy shit, is that a Cuban place?” she asks hopefully.

“Best one in the whole city, from what I’ve heard,” I say. “Thought we’d give it a try.”

“Oh,” she says softly. “Thank you.”

Logan told me Rey’s of Cuban descent, so I was hoping this place would be a good choice.

“I haven’t had ropa vieja in forever,” she says wistfully. “But can we go inside? Please?”

“Yeah, if you want to.”

“I really do.” She doesn’t groan as she slides the shoes back on this time. “Just to smell it and see it and feel it, you know?”

“Yeah, we can do that.”

Rey groans softly and I look over at her. “What?”

“I feel really bad for calling you a dick earlier.”

I smile. “It’s forgotten, okay?”

“Thanks.”

I park and Rey holds my arm as we make our way inside the restaurant, which is filled with dark wood and potted palms. The savory smells of meat and spices fill the air, and Rey breathes in deeply.

“I hope you’re hungry, West,” she says. “We’re gonna try everything.”

“I am.”

At the counter, Rey speaks Spanish to the guy who waits on us, and she doesn’t even seem to realize he’s gaping at her like a teenage boy having his first wet dream the entire time she’s speaking. After she orders, she reaches into her bag and I put out a hand to stop her.

“You’re not paying,” I say, taking out my wallet.

“Yes, I am. I just ordered at least a hundred bucks worth of food.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“But West—”

“It’s Jonah,” I say, tired of being addressed like a cop working as her partner. “And I’ve got it.”

She says something in Spanish and passes a card over to the guy behind the counter.

“No,” I say firmly, reaching past her with mine.

She says something in Spanish to the guy, and he laughs.

“What did you just say?” I demand.

“Nothing,” she says, feigning innocence.

“It better not have been about me being pretty.”

Someone in line behind us snickers and I narrow my eyes at Rey in a glare.

“Either you let me pay,” I say, “or I won’t do that thing you always beg me for in bed tonight.”

There’s another snicker behind us, and her red lips slide open in surprise.

We’re both holding our credit cards out and the cashier is talking to Rey in Spanish as she and I stare each other down.

“Well then, I’m not doing your thing, either,” she says in a level, challenging tone. “The thing with my fingers that makes you moan like a little girl.”