“Oh!” Belle’s eyes lit up as she assessed me first, and then dragged her eyes over the bartender. A tinge of possessiveness touched my chest when she clearly liked what she saw. She chewed her thumbnail, nodding. “Oh, yes. I like this idea.”
“I didn’t agree yet,” I reminded him.
“Okay,” he challenged. “Then go ahead and respond to…” he peered over my phone screen. “Brad, there.”
He and Belle both watched me, Belle fighting a smile as one eyebrow rose on her perfectly symmetrical face. The bartender watched me with a satisfied smirk when my fingers didn’t move for the keys, and my jaw popped open, a laugh slipping through.
“Wow. You two just met and you’re already ganging up on me.”
“I like him,” Belle said easily. “And I like this plan.”
“You don’t even know him. Actually,” I said. “I don’t even know his name yet.”
“Zach Bowen,” he said, extending his hand for mine. “Pleasure to meet you.”
I let him take my hand in his, trying to ignore the warm, buzzing energy that transferred when our skin touched.
“She’s Gemma,” Belle answered for me, since apparently my sticky tongue was glued to the roof of my mouth. “Gemma Mancini.”
“So, Gemma Mancini,” he said, his hand still wrapped around mine, eyes hooded and sure. “What do you say? Let me be your practice round.”
“Say yes, stupid,” Belle whispered.
I nudged her with my elbow.
Zach held my gaze confidently, his dark eyes watching me like I really had no other choice. And in that moment, I couldn’t think of a reason not to say yes. He seemed fun. He was hot.
And it would save me from this stupid app for at least one more week.
“Fine,” I conceded, and Zach’s smirk turned into a full-blown smile, one that had a slight dimple popping under that delicious stubble.
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 an oh my God fashion.
“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 I really hope 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 are my tickets, 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 — only if 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…