Page 33 of Right Where I Want You

“Oh.” Flustered by my mistake, I nodded hard. “Duh.Sorry.”

“I’m kidding.” He grinned. “I actually have tickets to an upcoming game and nobody to take. So, if youweredating, then this time, I’d beasking.”

The phone dimmed as I hovered my fingers over the keypad. I’d had no intention of actually getting a date out of this. My “common interest” theory had workedtoowell. “I don’t know,” I said. “I’m not sure I’m in the rightplace.”

“Does this have anything to do with the guy staring daggers at me rightnow?”

I wrinkled my nose. “Who?”

“Tall, expensive-looking suit, seems like he belongs in a colognead.”

Sebastian. I could just picture his scowl as I not only beat him to the punchline, but did it in under ten minutes. “That’s just my coworker,” I said. “His face always looks likethat.”

“He’s not yourboyfriend?”

“No,but—”

“Let me see your phone.” I hesitated but slid my purse from my shoulder, typed my passcode into my cell, and passed it over. As he navigated to my contacts, he said, “Imagine how much more impressed they’ll be that you not only got a phone number, but an actual datetoo.”

I didn’twantthat. I had enough on my plate as it was, and I was still recovering from Neal. Though Frank seemed nice, could I really trust myjudgment?

Frank smiled as he finished adding his number. “If nothing else, you’ll get to see the Yanks play.” Within seconds, his phone vibrated in my hands with a text from my number. He leaned over to read the screen. “There. Now we have each other’s info. I’ll contact you with the details nextweek.”

“Okay,” I said, handing back his phone. The Yankees hadn’t even played a full inning since I’d sat down. That had to be some kind of record for scoring a date—it was for me, at least. “I’d better get back so I have sufficient braggingtime.”

He took his wallet from his suit jacket. “I’ve got to take off anyway. I’ll be intouch.”

I slid off the barstool with my phone in one hand and the dregs of my lemon drop in the other, a little fuzzy about what’d justhappened.

When the guys saw me coming, they parted. “Well?” Albertasked.

I set my glass on the bar and unlocked my phone to show them. “I got thenumber.”

“Nice work, Keller,” Justin said. “Recordtime.”

Sebastian’s eyes darted over the screen, and then to me, barely visible under his heavy eyebrows. “How do we know you didn’t just tell him about thebet?”

“Does it matter if she did?” Garth said. “Maybe that’s one of hermoves.”

“That’s cheating,” hereplied.

Justin shook his head. “Judge rules—notcheating. The guy would’ve blown her off or given her a fake number if he wasn’t intoher.”

“And it isn’t fake,” I said, navigating to my texts. I opened the one from François that read,Looking forward to thegame.

“What game?” Sebastian asked, reading upsidedown.

“We’re going on a date.” I smiled, reveling in the chance to finally be smug. Sebastian’s knuckles whitened from gripping his beer bottle. François was right—having the date in my back pocket was much more fun. “My theory works. We bonded over the Yankees, and now we’re going to see them together. How’s that forgame?”

“If the date’s for real,” Sebastian said, “why would he let you walk back over here right into the middle of a group ofmen?”

“Because I didn’t ask for his permission,” Isaid.

Justin snickered. “It’s bright outside the cave, huh,Sebastian?”

“Well, she definitely got his attention,” Garth said, nodding toward Frank. “He’s looked over here probably ten times while paying hisbill.”

“François from Louisiana.” Sebastian snorted. “Sounds like he belongs in an Anne Rice novel.” There was no way Sebastian could’ve heard our conversation from where he’d been standing, which meant he’d gleaned Frank’s location from the area code. He finished off his beer, put it on the bar, and handed me back my blazer. “Excuse me,” he grumbled, walkingaway.