He tried to speak, but she kept right on talking.

“Plus, we have a career in common, and let’s be honest, there aren’t that many sportswriters out there, so we should stick together, right?”

“I—”

“You can’t say no,” she chattered on. “Because I’m new to the city and desperate for a friend, and I like you. But that’s where it ends, okay? At like. You don’t have to worry that I’ll get the wrong idea about what this is because I won’t. But in return, you have to promise not to flirt.”

Cole could only stare at her.

It was the strangest conversation he’d ever had with a woman. He wasn’t sure he’d ever had a woman tell him quite so plainly that she didn’t want anything romantic from him.

Which was fine—he wasn’t in the market for a girlfriend, and even if he were, this chatty little tomboy wasn’t really his type.

Still, he couldn’t help being a little insulted by her easy dismissal of him as a potential lover.

And her insistence that he not flirt—Cole wasn’t sure he even knew where that line was anymore. What was the difference between friendly and flirty?

Penelope pointed a finger at him. “You’re overthinking this.”

He grabbed another celery stick and bit into it as he studied her. “Well, I do have a question. Since you have this so planned out, and all.”

“Shoot,” she said, taking a sip of her beer.

He leaned forward a little. “There is the not so tiny detail that as of now we’re actively competing for the same job. What happens when one of us gets it?”

And despite his surprise affection for Tiny, he would get the job. He had to. Rent at his brother’s adult-care home got more expensive every time Cole blinked, and Cole couldn’t bear the thought of Bobby’s having to move away from his friends if Cole hit a gap in his freelance contracts.

He needed that steady paycheck.

Penelope shrugged. “Why would that make a difference? I mean, don’t get me wrong. I want the job. I want it badly. But if you get it…well, then, I have to think you’re the best person for Oxford. And I’ll be happy for you.”

Cole could only shake his head. “You’re a unique creature, Penelope Pope.”

“What about you? If I get the job, can you handle it? We can still be friends?”

Cole glanced down at their near-empty glasses. “Another round?”

“Sure,” she said slowly, “but you didn’t answer the question.”

He lifted his hand to get the bartender’s attention. “We can absolutely be friends,” he told her.

“Even if I get the job,” she pressed, sounding doubtful.

Cole glanced over and smiled before chucking her playfully under the chin. “Oh, Tiny. That ain’t never gonna happen.”

Chapter 6

Penelope: Your precious Yankees aren’t looking so hot.

Cole: You watch your filthy Chicago mouth.

Penelope: Hmm, maybe I need glasses, because I keep looking at my TV, and I’m seeing Chicago White Sox: 6, New York Yankees: 2…What are you seeing?

Cole: The Yanks will come back. They always do.

Penelope: Has anyone told you how cute your delusions are?

Cole: Not recently. Want to come over and tell me to my face?

Penelope: Nice try, Sharpe. I’m quite comfortable on my own couch, thank you very much.

Cole: Fair enough…What are you wearing?

Penelope: Goodbye, Cole.

—

Cole Sharpe was good at a lot of things. Baseball. Putting furniture together. Cooking steak.

Sex.

But waiting was not on his list of skills.

And when an entire week passed after his interview without any word from Cassidy, Cole was past impatient and heading toward pissed.

The only consolation was that Penelope Pope hadn’t gotten word either. He knew because true to their agreement that afternoon in the bar, they’d ventured into a friendship of sorts.

Not that they were hanging out every day or anything. He actually hadn’t seen her since that day at the pub.

But they’d exchanged a few casual texts. Mostly about sports, with the occasional restaurant recommendation thrown in when she was craving Italian and didn’t know which of the hundreds in the city to choose from.

Cole found that he kind of enjoyed his new nightly routine of plopping on his couch with the remote, his notebook, his whiskey…and his phone.

He bickered with Penelope over texts about whether or not the rookie Henderson’s homer was a fluke or hint of potential. About whether or not Perez had gained weight in the off-season and would be able to maintain his impressive stolen base percentage.

It was through these nightly exchanges that he knew she hadn’t gotten the job offer either.

Why the fuck was Cassidy taking so long to decide?

On Thursday, one week and one day after his and Penelope’s interviews, Cole took matters into his own hands.

And this time, when he walked into the Oxford offices, two coffees in hand, the correct recipient was sitting at the front desk.

“Jo. My love,” he said, giving her his best smile.

The dark-haired receptionist glanced up from her computer and gave him a wry smile. “I was wondering when you’d show up with bribes.”

He handed her the coffee with an innocent look. “I’m offended, darling. This is just me trying to woo you so you’ll have dinner with me.”

“Unh-uh,” the brunette said, taking a sip. “For the nine millionth time, I don’t date guys from the office.”