Page 5

Chapter Five

Tahlia

June 12th

T he surprise storm outside is just another thing to add to an already stressful day.

The case I had been working on mysteriously disappeared from my documents before I had a chance to upload it to the cloud.

I had to recreate the whole file before I left work, which was an hour after I should have already been gone.

Plus, the strap on my favorite book bag broke after I loaded it with law books for tonight’s study session.

And to top it all off, the liquor store was out of my favorite wine to go with the frozen dinner I was going to nuke.

Making a fast dash across the parking garage, I dart into the open door with my purse and books in tow.

“Glad I am here to get the door before I head home. You have quite a load there.” Mr.

Jenkins states when I enter the building.

“Mr. Jenkins, you always make a bad day brighter. Thank you for catching the door.”

“You sure have a lot of books. Need help?”

“No, I got it. Thanks anyway.”

I turn the corner to go retrieve my mail.

The door creaks when I nudge it open with my shoulder, balancing the stack of law books in my arms.

My muscles struggle from carrying the load, and I can feel a bead of sweat trickling down my back.

“Great day for my bag to break,” I mutter.

The metal mailboxes mock me with how far away they seem.

My fingers dig into the spines of the books, trying to stop them from toppling while I shuffle forward.

I internally groan when I realize my keys are in my purse when I reach my mailbox.

I lean the stack of books against the wall for just a second to free up a hand.

Bad idea.

The top book slides, and I lunge to catch it, nearly losing the whole stack in the process.

The whoosh of the door opening stirs the air across my back.

The sharp screech of sneakers dragging across tile grates on my nerves, but more than that—it reminds me I’m no longer alone.

Great.

An audience.

Not to allow the books to fall or the guest to see me sweat, I use my free hand to get the treasure I seek.

"Whoa, counselor. Need a hand?"

My stomach tightens.

That voice.

Deep, teasing, with just the faintest edge of amusement.

It’s been one week.

One very blissful and happy week.

I don’t even need to turn around to know who it is.

Jake Reynolds.

My neighbor.

My nemesis.

The human embodiment of “not right now, Satan.”

I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, praying for patience.

“I’ve got it, thanks,” I say through gritted teeth, still not looking at him.

“Uh-huh.” His voice draws closer, and I hear the soft thud of his sneakers on the tile floor as he approaches.

“Because it really looks like you’ve got it.”

“I said I—” The words catch in my throat as the books finally win the battle against gravity.

They tumble to the floor in a dramatic cascade, landing with a series of heavy thuds that echo through the mailroom.

“Fuck!” My pride scurries back and embarrassment takes over.

Jake’s laugh is low and infuriating.

"You were saying?" he smirks.

This is the last thing I need after the day I had.

Jake crouches down, scooping up a few books with one hand while the other holds back a chuckle.

“Well, that was dramatic. You sure you’re not prepping for a role in a legal thriller? The Case of the Overworked and Unrested Attorney has a nice ring to it.”

I shoot him a glare as I kneel to grab the rest.

“Hilarious. Really.”

He grins, holding up a hefty casebook and eyeing the title.

“Torts, huh? Sounds… riveting. Can’t imagine why you’re carrying around enough law to personally sue gravity.”

I snatch it from him, ignoring the way his fingers brush mine.

“Just put the rest over there.” I nod toward the wall, where I’ve managed to stack the salvaged books in a neat pile.

"Your wish is my command," he says with an exaggerated bow.

I roll my eyes.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're ridiculous?"

"Only about a dozen times a day," he replies. "I take it as a compliment."

I make my way to the mailbox with Jake going to check his mail. I'm hyper-aware of his presence next to me, the scent of his cologne mingling with the stale air.

"So," he says as I fumble with the key. "What's with the mobile library? Planning a weekend getaway to a particularly boring destination?"

"Ha ha. Some of us actually have to study, you know. The Bar exam isn't going to pass itself."

Jake whistles low. "The bar, huh? Impressive. When's the big day?"

"Next month," I reply, finally getting the mailbox open. "Hence the round-the-clock cramming."

Jake chuckles, no doubt thinking of the last interaction we had. "Noted. But if you ever need a full-time book mule, my rates are reasonable."

I ignore him, focusing on unlocking my mailbox. The tiny metal door creaks open, revealing a mess of envelopes, flyers, and—of course—at least three credit card offers I never signed up for.

I shuffle through the pile, stuffing the useless junk into my bag, along with a bill I’ve been avoiding and a letter from the State Bar Association. My stomach knots at the sight of it, but I shove it deeper into my tote before I can overthink it.

Jake watches, his head tilting. "Anything good? A long-lost inheritance? A fan letter?"

"Unless you count an exciting opportunity to open another credit card with a thirty percent interest rate, then no."

He smirks. "Damn. Guess I'll have to postpone my gold-digger ambitions."

I snap the mailbox shut and sling my bag over my shoulder. "Tragic. Now, are we taking the elevator or are you planning to follow me up the stairs just to annoy me?"

Jake raises a brow as he grabs my books and walks toward the stainless steel doors of the elevator. "Counselor, if I wanted to annoy you, I'd be much more creative than that."

"Yeah? And how’s that?" I inquire with nothing but my tote on my shoulder.

The elevator dings and doors slide open, saving him from answering.

He turns and grins at me like I just walked into a trap. "Guess you’ll have to stick around and find out." He waits for me to step in and he follows, hitting 14 before I can.

I groan, "God help me."

The doors slide shut and we ascend to our floor. Awkward silence fills the space. The only sounds are the whoosh of the car as it moves and the occasional shuffle of his shoes on the tile. Even though I can feel the weight of his gaze on me, I choose not to acknowledge it.

I clear my throat. "So. Thanks, I guess."

Jake leans against the railing, still watching me. "A guess? Damn. Didn’t realize gratitude came with legal disclaimers."

"Consider this an informal agreement. No verbal contract needed."

"Fine by me. I prefer handshakes anyway. By the way, counselor. Your gratitude is showing.”

“Gratitude?” I snort. “You’re the one who distracted me in the first place.”

“Right. Because I’m responsible for your complete lack of balance,” he teases.

The elevator hums upward. Another lull falls between us and for a minute, I think I’m getting out of this awkward situation when we stop on floor seven to get another passenger.

The older gentleman nods, presses for the rooftop, and the doors close once again.

"Serious question. Do you even have bones under all that stress, or are you just one big, tense muscle?"

The passenger looks at Jake then me before turning his focus back to the doors.

I scoff. "Excuse me?"

"You don’t relax, do you?" He tilts his head. "I mean, look at you—lugging around a small library, probably surviving on caffeine fumes and pure stubbornness."

I cross my arms. "Not all of us get paid millions to hit a ball, Reynolds. Some of us have to study."

"Some of us also need oxygen and fun to function."

"You calling me boring?"

His grin widens. "Not boring. Just… wound tighter than a pitcher’s grip on a no-hitter."

I shake my head. "That supposed to mean something to me?"

Jake sighs. "Tragic. Not even basic baseball knowledge? No wonder you’re always stressed."

I arch a brow. "Are you implying sports trivia is the cure for legal anxiety?"

"Might be. Wanna test that theory?"

The elevator doors open. He shifts the books in his arms, nodding toward my door.

"C’mon, counselor. Lead the way."

I step off the lift and walk toward my final destination for the evening.

“You can just place the books by the door. I know you probably have a date or two lined up for the evening,” I tease…sorta. I dig out my keys, unlocking the door and pushing it open.

Jake steps inside without hesitation, or an invitation, placing the books on the counter. He looks around—taking in my neatly stacked files, the highlighters lined up in perfect color order beside my laptop.

"Wow. This is… aggressively organized."

"Says the guy whose condo sounds like a frat house every night."

"Not every night."

“Well, every night you’re home.”

“Oh, so you do know a little about baseball.”

“I know I have more peace when you’re not home so you must be away.”

“Touché.”

I stand near the counter unsure what to do with my hands or what to say next.

Jake rubs the back of his neck, shifting his weight looking around my home in awkward silence.

I grab a cup from the cabinet and add ice to it before filling it with water. I turn to face him, brushing a stray braid out of my face and really noticing him for the first time today. He’s standing there in worn jeans and a T-shirt that clings a little too well to his athletic frame and the bulk of his tattooed arms begging to be released. His dark hair is slightly tousled, and he looks like he’s just stepped out of a photo shoot, while I probably resemble a stressed-out person who hasn’t slept well in weeks.

“So,” he begins. Then, out of nowhere, he pulls something from his back pocket and tosses it onto the counter.

A laminated ticket of some sort.

"What’s this?"

"A peace offering." He shrugs. "Got a game this Saturday. You should come."

I blink. "You’re… inviting me to a baseball game?"

"What, have you never been?"

"Not since my dad dragged me to one when I was ten. I was bored out of my mind."

"Sounds like you had the wrong company."

I stare at the wording. VIP Guest. Tennessee Terrors vs. Madison Badgers .

"But why?" I ask.

Jake exhales, scratching his jaw. "I don’t know. You looked like you could use a break. Consider it an intervention. Or just an excuse to yell at me in a stadium instead of a hallway."

I hesitate. The logical part of me screams no —I have a study schedule, a plan. But there’s a small, annoying part that whispers, why not?

Jake watches me. "Look, just think about it. Worst case? You waste three hours eating nachos. Best case? You actually have fun."

I sigh, grabbing the offer. "No promises."

His grin is back. "That’s all I ask."

He walks to the door, “I’m leaving tonight. We have a two-game road game in Chicago then I’ll be back Thursday evening. So, you won’t be hearing anything from my place.”

“Great. I can study in peace.”

“You know you’re gonna miss me.”

“Hardly. Bye Reynolds.” I push the door closed and lock it in case he thinks about coming back.

The second the door clicks shut behind Jake, I’m already reaching for my phone. My heart’s still racing, my brain’s still buffering, and I need someone to tell me I did not just hallucinate that whole conversation.

Joi is going to lose her entire mind.

She picks up on the first ring.

“Tahlia Carter, a weeknight call? This better be gossip.”

I don’t waste time. "Jake Reynolds invited me to his game."

The call falls silent then her intrusive thoughts become loud.

“BITCH, WHAT?!”

I flinch, yanking the phone away from my ear. "Geez, Joi! Indoor voice!"

"No, ma’am, you do not get to tell me to calm down. You just dropped a nuclear bomb and expected me to react like a damn nun? Absolutely not. Start talking.”

I sigh, kicking my shoes off and flopping onto the couch, still holding the pass like it might disintegrate.

"It’s not a big deal."

Joi scoffs so hard I can hear her rolling her eyes. "Tahlia. Tahlia, sweetheart. Do you hear yourself? Because I don't think you do."

I rub my temple. "Joi, I’m serious. It was nothing. He helped me with my books, we exchanged our usual sarcasm, and then—bam—a pass appeared on my counter."

“Like magic?”

“Like he wanted to shut me up.”

"Or like he wants you there."

I scoff, clutching a throw pillow to my chest. "Highly doubt that."

Joi’s quiet for exactly three seconds before she says, “Did he give you the Jake Reynolds Smirk?"

I hesitate. Damn it.

"You paused. Oh my god, you paused!"

"I didn’t pause!"

"You totally did. That means he smirked, and it worked on you.”

I groan. "Joi, I swear to God, I will hang up."

"No, you won’t."

She’s right, but that’s beside the point.

Joi exhales dramatically. "Okay, fine. Back to the facts. Your mortal enemy slash insufferably hot neighbor invites you, a woman who barely tolerates his existence, to a baseball game. Why?"

I roll onto my back, staring at the ceiling as if the answers might be written up there. "I don’t know. Maybe he just had an extra pass. Maybe he felt guilty for being an insufferable menace."

Joi hums, not buying it. “Uh-huh. Or maybe he’s trying to get your attention.”

I snort. "Jake Reynolds does not need to try to get a woman's attention."

"Mmm. True. But maybe yours is the one he wants."

I cover my face with the pillow. "No. Absolutely not. That man is the human embodiment of ‘not right now, Satan.’"

Joi cackles. "Oh, babe. You are in such deep denial, and I am living for it."

I groan, peeking out from the pillow. "Can we focus? The real issue here is whether I’m actually going to this damn game."

"Oh, you’re going."

"Joi."

"What?" She feigns innocence. "I’m just stating facts. You’re going."

I sit up, gripping the pass like it’s personally mocking me. "I don’t know. I have to study."

"And?"

"And I don’t have time to sit through a baseball game."

Joi clicks her tongue. "Girl, when was the last time you did anything remotely fun?"

I open my mouth—then close it when nothing comes to mind.

Joi gasps like I just admitted to murder. "Oh my god. You actually have to think about it."

I throw the pillow at the armrest. "I hate you."

"You love me."

"Irrelevant."

"No, babe, it’s very relevant. Because I’m the only one who’s going to tell you the truth. You need a damn break."

She’s not wrong. I know she’s not wrong. But relaxing is not on my to-do list.

"I just don’t see the point. It’s a baseball game. It's not like I’ll even enjoy it."

Joi snorts. "Oh, honey. You're about to be sitting front row, surrounded by elite athletes in tight pants, while the golden retriever of professional baseball actively flirts with you. Trust me, you will enjoy it."

I tilt my head. "Why do I feel like you’re more excited about this than I am?"

"Because I am. And because I know you, and I know you’re gonna overthink the hell out of this, so let me make it easy…GO. TO. THE. GAME."

I exhale hard enough to shake my entire body. "I’ll think about it."

Joi claps like a proud parent at a kindergarten graduation. "That’s all I ask. For now."

I shake my head, already regretting this conversation. But when I glance at the pass again…

I don’t feel quite as reluctant as I did before.