Page 19 of The Wrong Game

“Don’t act like you don’t want to touch my ass,” he tossed over his shoulder. “I saw you staring at it the night we met.”

My mouth gaped wider.

“I definitely didnotstare at your ass.”

“Sure,” he said, nodding. “And I definitely didnotstare at your rack.”

I smacked his ass at that, and he threw his fists in the air at the win.

“See? Don’t you feel better?”

I rolled my eyes. “More like violated. Can’t a woman go to a bar and not have her tits ogled?”

“A girl built like you?” he asked, eyes flashing down to my chest before they met mine again. “Probably not.”

I just laughed, turning back to the field for the next play. Still, I couldn’t stop smiling — not with Zach standing next to me. He’d been like that all game — making jokes, laughing, cheering. In a way, I was kind of sad he’d offered to be a practice round, because I knew after tonight, I’d never talk to him again.

We could have been great friends.

Our guys didn’t make first down in the next three plays, so with just seconds to go on the clock, we kicked for three points, and just like that, the game was tied.

Halftime.

“I love games like this!” Janet screamed as the crowd grew louder, everyone filing up to the food stands and bathrooms. “Looks like our boys showed up ready to play this year.”

“Hell yeah, they did!” I bounced, smile splitting my face.

When Janet and Roy left for the bathrooms, it was just me and Zach, and we sat down in our seats for the first time all game.

“Do you want a sausage or anything? I can run up,” he offered, but I shook my head.

“Nah, I’m good with beer for now. I had a big lunch. Besides, if I gotanything, it would be a hot dog — not an Italian sausage.” I grimaced. “Yuck.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Zach pressed a hand to his chest. “I think… I mean, I’m personally offended right now.”

“You and every other Chicagoan. I’ve just always been a hot dog girl.” I shrugged. “Sue me.”

“I might.”

I smiled. “You can go get food, though, if you want. I can wait here by myself. I’m a big girl, you know?”

“Oh, I don’t doubt you could handle yourself. But, I’m good for now.” He was still watching me curiously. “Wait, didn’t it say in your profile that you’re Italian?”

“I am, indeed.”

“But you don’t like Italian sausages.”

I chuckled. “We’re not going to move on from the street meat subject, are we?”

“Not until you tell me what you have against Italian sausage.”

I sighed, turning in my seat to face him. “Okay, long story short, my dad is German, mom is Italian. They made it together against the odds of our families pretty much hating each other. It was so bad, in fact, that I’ve never met my mom’s side of the family. And, honestly, my mom and dad traveled so much when I was a kid, I never really gotanyof the Italian heritage you would expect. Other than my love for red wine and pasta. Because, duh.”

Zach smirked.

“I spent most of my time with my dad’s dad, and he was a hot dog guy. He did try to get me into brats,” I said, scrunching my nose. “But I wasn’t a fan of those either.”

Zach nodded, mouth turning down like he was digesting what I’d just told him. “Alright then. Hot dog girl. Note taken.” He smiled. “Are you having fun?”