Page 94 of Untying the Knot
Her eyes snap up to me. “You’ve done enough.”
Yeah, she doesn’t want me around.
“Okay, well, I’ll be outside watching the Bobbies versus Rebels game if you want any help.”
She doesn’t say anything, just keeps carefully working to put everything back in place. I shouldn’t feel bad after all the hell I’ve been through, so why doesn’t this feel right?
This was supposed to be redemption for her eating that beautiful steak in front of me last night—while I chewed my charred meat like gum until it felt like I wouldn’t choke while swallowing. But it doesn’t give me the kind of euphoric feeling I was looking for. It makes me feel like a dick.
Sighing, I take a seat on the couch outside, pick up my remote, and flip the TV on . . .
But nothing happens.
Fucking batteries!!!
Well, guess who doesn’t feel bad about the records anymore?
* * *
“Anyone throwing a perfect game?”Myla asks as she walks out onto the patio with a blanket in hand.
“No,” I mutter as I sip from my beer.
“Shame. I wouldn’t want to jinx anything.”
I snap my head in her direction and say, “You know damn well you’re the reason Harris didn’t have a perfect game.”
“Yes, Ryot,” she says sarcastically. “It was because of me. The universe heard me utter those words and then rained down its cosmic thunder onto Harris. It has nothing to do with the fact that he wasn’t mentally stable enough to throw one last pitch, and he choked.”
“You know damn well Harris never misses on his cutter.”
“I don’t actually, although I probably should. You had your annoying sports cast thing on loud enough this morning.”
“Aw, did I wake you up?” I sarcastically pout.
“You disturbed my orgasm. By the way, thanks for the batteries.”
My nostrils flare as I stare at her. “I’m going to start hiding my remote.”
“That’s fine. Do whatever makes you happy.”
She takes a seat on the couch and crosses her legs. “What the hell are you doing?” I ask.
“This is a neutral space. Therefore, I’m taking a seat.”
“Yeah, well, this TV is not neutral. It’s mine.”
She tilts her head to the side and says, “Aw, how cute. Do you want a Post-it note for it to remind me?”
“No, I just want to remind you that you’re not allowed to watch my TV.”
“I don’t plan on it. I’ve watched enough baseball in my lifetime. I don’t need to watch more. I’m just going to lay out here and scroll through Tik Tok until my eyes are blurry.” She unfolds her blanket, fluffs it into the air and, as it settles over her, the image becomes clearer and causes my entire body to tense up.
“Why the fuck do you have that?” I ask her as I sit tall.
She glances at her blanket and then back at me. “Saw it in the store today, and it looked comfy. Why, do you want to use it?”
“The fuck I do,” I say as I stare down at the Rebels logo plastered all over the blanket. She knows how I feel about the Rebels. In Chicago, you’re either a Bobbie for life or a Rebel at heart. I’m going to tell you right now, I’m a goddamn Bobbie for life. “You know, as a former Bobbies player, that shit doesn’t belong in this household.”
