“I’m from upstate,” I said. “It’s a tense time at home right now.”
He smiled, popping a few peanuts. “I hear Aaron Judge might return to the lineup this month.”
“Let’s hope.” We watched the game a couple minutes, exchanging opinions about the season. When the conversation stalled, I glanced over my shoulder and met eyes with Sebastian, who dropped his to his beer. Most of the guys made no secret of the fact that they were watching. Justin even had out a notebook and pen. What, was he keeping score? He gave me a thumbs up.
They were out of earshot at least, so I turned back to Frank, took a bolstering sip of lemon drop, and said, “Can I ask a favor?”
“Sure.”
“Those guys I’m with—who are mostly a mix of Mets and Sox fans, by the way—they made this bet.” He eased back on the stool to see behind me, but I said, “Don’t look.”
He stopped himself and met my eyes with a spark of curiosity in his. He had the kind of ruddy cheeks that made him look cheerful, though at the moment, he just seemed curious. “What kind of bet?”
Having to say it aloud was a little harder than I thought. To keep from blabbering through my nerves, I just said, “They don’t think I have the guts to pick up a guy in a bar.”
He worked his jaw back and forth a moment. Fine lines formed around his eyes as he thought. “So I’m the target. Did you choose or did they?”
“I did.” I shrugged a shoulder. “You’re a Yankees guy—I figured I’d find an ally in you.”
“Anything for a comrade.” He shifted to one side, took his phone from his pocket, and unlocked it. “Can I get your number?”
I smiled gratefully and leaned subtly to one side to make sure the guys could see. I took Frank’s phone, opened the phone app, and pretended to type.
“You could actually put it in there,” he said.
Oh . . . crap. It was either naiveté, poor planning, or a bit of both, but I hadn’t anticipated that my target might actually want me to pick him up. If I’d come into the interaction that way, I would’ve chickened out. I glanced up at him. “The thing is, I just started a new job that takes up all my time, so I’m not really dating right now.”
“I only asked for your number, not a date,” he said.
“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 you were dating, then this time, I’d be asking.”
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 worked too well. “I don’t know,” I said. “I’m not sure I’m in the right place.”
“Does this have anything to do with the guy staring daggers at me right now?”
I wrinkled my nose. “Who?”
“Tall, expensive-looking suit, seems like he belongs in a cologne ad.”
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 like that.”
“He’s not your boyfriend?”
“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 date too.”
I didn’t want that. I had enough on my plate as it was, and I was still recovering from Neal. Though Frank seemed nice, could I really trust my judgment?
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 next week.”
“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 bragging time.”
He took his wallet from his suit jacket. “I’ve got to take off anyway. I’ll be in touch.”
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 just happened.
When the guys saw me coming, they parted. “Well?” Albert asked.
I set my glass on the bar and unlocked my phone to show them. “I got the number.”
“Nice work, Keller,” Justin said. “Record time.”
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 the bet?”
“Does it matter if she did?” Garth said. “Maybe that’s one of her moves.”
“That’s cheating,” he replied.
Justin shook his head. “Judge rules—not cheating. The guy would’ve blown her off or given her a fake number if he wasn’t into her.”
“And it isn’t fake,” I said, navigating to my texts. I opened the one from François that read, Looking forward to the game.
“What game?” Sebastian asked, reading upside down.
“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 for game?”
“If the date’s for real,” Sebastian said, “why would he let you walk back over here right into the middle of a group of men?”
“Because I didn’t ask for his permission,” I said.
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 his bill.”
“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, walking away.
“I take it he’s not good at losing,” I said to Justin once Sebastian had disappeared around back.
“Not really,” Justin said. “But I wouldn’t count him out yet.”
8
Georgina
In the half hour since I’d gotten Frank’s number and sent Sebastian sulking, I’d learned more than I cared to know about Fortnite from Derek. He was mid-sentence when he paused and looked behind me. “Looks like you might have some competition, George.”
My heart sank. I knew instantly what Derek was referring to. Maybe Sebastian wasn’t sulking after all. There were generally only three reasons for a man to separate from the pack—food, alcohol, or sex—and since the bar was fully stocked on the first two, I wasn’t surprised to turn and find Sebastian alone at a table with an attractive woman.
A very attractive woman with a nose ring, a sleek, winding forearm tattoo most people could never pull off, and long, honeyed hair to match her long, golden-skinned limbs.
“Damn, she’s fine,” Albert said. “Sorry, George, but Sebastian’s going to score higher in that department.”
Justin agreed as he made a note in his pad. “Attractiveness of date,” he murmured. “Ten out of ten.”
I frowned. They didn’t have to rub it in, although I suspected they’d given Sebastian grief as well. No wonder he’d looked so cranky after my ten minutes with François. What had I expected, though? I was clearly out of my league. Sebastian had what women wanted, and he knew it. I hadn’t needed to experience much of his charm to know its potency. Not to mention his actual job was curating a style, conduct, and sex bible for men all over the world.