I faltered. For one split second I faltered, and then I found myself again and reached for the door handle. My attention stayed forward. I almost said I was sorry, but that would be a lie. “I’m sure just about anyone would give you a ride if you asked nicely.”

A hand that wasn’t my own pressed down on my window, long fingers with short fingernails extended wide, his palm as big as I remembered from our handshake. “I’m asking you.”

“And I’m not the only person that can give you one. I need to get to work.” I jerked the handle, but the door didn’t budge. At all.

“Casillas.”

Holy shit. My name came out of his—

Poop.

I glanced at him over my shoulder; this wasn’t a big deal. So he’d said my name when I didn’t think another player’s name had crossed his lips… hell. Ever?

“I would appreciate it,” his deep voice insisted.

I didn’t say a word, I just jerked on the handle again.

His forearm flexed as he held my door down. “I can pay you,” he offered, casually.

The hell?

No one in my life had ever offered to give me money for doing them a favor, because it wasn’t necessary. Here was a person who made more money retired than I would in a decade. He had a freaking driver yet, he wanted to pay me to give him a ride.

Ugh.

What was I doing? I might feel like a badass right now telling him that I wouldn’t take him home, or wherever he was going, but later on there was no doubt I’d feel like an asshole for not doing a favor that was easily within my reach. I didn’t want to be that person who was an asshole just to be an asshole; it wouldn’t make me any better than this jerk-off.

I fought the urge to tip my head back and groan; instead I let out a resigned sigh and waved him on. “I’ll take you.”

Kulti blinked and then quickly nodded, getting in. Wordlessly, I pulled out of the lot and made my way in same direction we’d gone on Friday.

“Same place?” I asked with only the slightest hint of an attitude in my tone as I pulled onto the freeway.

“Yes” was his solitary answer.

All right. This time I did turn on the radio, and I drove quietly to the same house in the same family neighborhood I’d just been in.

Just as I was pulling over he started shifting in his seat, and I glanced over to see him pulling a slim black wallet out.

Jesus. I pulled over to the curb in front of the square white stone home. “Don’t.”

His silence was deafening as he sat there, duffel on his lap, one hand on the car door, and the other holding a slim coffee-colored leather wallet.

“I’m giving you a ride as a favor. I don’t want your money,” I explained to him carefully.

He started to pull out a bill from his wallet regardless.

“Hey, I’m not joking. I don’t want your money.”

Kulti started to shove a fifty at me. “Here.”

I reached up and cupped his hand, crushing the bill between us. “I don’t want it.”

“Take it.” He pushed against me.

I pushed back. “No.”

“Stop being stubborn and take the money,” Kulti argued, his face exasperated.

Well if he thought he was the only one getting aggravated, he was dead wrong. “I said no. I don’t want it. Just get out.”

It was his turn to start with the one-word replies. “No.”

Screw this. I put some muscle behind it and slowly started pushing our hands back toward him. Well I made it two inches before he realized what I was doing and then began pushing back, only he was stronger and he advanced more than two inches.