A crooked grin grows on his face. “Yeah, I’m good. I’m really fucking good.” I realize now he looks sated, not zoned out. Right, he’s all about superstitions. “Please don’t tell me who the girl was. I really don’t want or need the details.”
“I also have this baseball. If you’d rather write your number here.” I wet my lips, puffing out a breath. “Okay.” I take the ball from her hand and scribble something on it. “But this stays between us.”
There's no way...he must've put someone else's number