Page 9 of The Wrong Game

He reached for my phone, the screen still on the unanswered message from Brad. He clicked out of it, typing his phone number into a new text message, instead, and sending himself an emoji.

“There. My number. And I have yours. See you for the game next weekend?”

“Looks like it.”

His eyes roamed over me once more, the corner of his mouth pulling up just slightly. “Can’t wait.”

Belle nudged me under the bar with her knee, her eyes wide in anoh my Godfashion.

“For now, I should get back to work. I’ll check on you ladies in a bit.”

“Thank you, Zach,” Belle said, waving her fingers daintily as he made his way over to the other side of the bar.

She didn’t stop staring once he was gone, though.

“Damn,” she breathed, resting her chin on the hand she’d just used to wave him farewell. “Now Ireallyhope you get railed into next year.”

I laughed, trying not to panic at the thought of another man touching me.

A man who wasn’t Carlo.

Shaking my head, I pulled the app back up on my phone, showing Belle the messages that had come through and letting her swipe through the pictures of guys for a while. As we talked, I reminded myself of the one thing I always needed to hear.

I am in control.

It’s just a football game. It’s just a night of sports and beer and hot dogs. If I want to have sex with him, I can. If I don’t, I can just go home alone. No harm, no foul. These aremytickets, and this is my plan, even if it was Belle’s idea.

There are eight home games this season. That’s eight different guys, eight new friends to make, and —onlyif I want — eight potential orgasms that don’t come from my trusty vibrator.

I am in control.

Maybe this will actually be fun, I thought, laughing as Belle swiped a hard left on a guy who stated in his bio that he was a “sex machine.” She seemed to be having more fun than I was going through the app, so I let her swipe away, content to just sip on my vodka and listen to her commentary.

Every now and then, I’d feel Zach watching me from wherever he was working behind the bar. And when our eyes met, my chest would squeeze, along with my thighs. There was something about his eyes, about the kind of heat that swept over me with that gaze. The way he looked at me, it was as if he already had me in his bed, between his sheets, one hand on my hip and the other hiking my leg up as he settled between my thighs.

He’d only just learned my name, but the way he looked at me? It was as if he knew everything — maybe even more than I knew, myself.

A practice round…

Yeah. This could be fun.

Zach

“So,” Doc said, eyes mischievous as he passed my mother the mashed potatoes. “Zach has a date tomorrow.”

I half laughed, half groaned as the entire table erupted at Doc’s announcement.

“What? A date? With who?” My mom said excitedly, her eyes lit up like the giant bulbs donning our Christmas tree each year.

This was at the same time my little brother said, “Yeah, right. Zach can’t land a date.”

And my dad simply smirked, his smile the same one I had, and nudged me. “Atta boy.”

I took a roll from under the warm cloth napkin in the basket, passing it to Doc with a pointed glare. “Thanks for that, Doc.”

“Hey, just starting some friendly dinner conversation.”

“I see that.”