By the slight smile on Sebastian’s face, I thought maybe he could sense that. He wanted me to back down, either so I’d embarrass myself, or so he could retain his “best game in the office” title. Probably both. As I debated the most convincing way to fake a stomachache, the lone Yankees fan at the end of the bar cried out, “Hell, yeah,” his eyes glued to the TV as he beganclapping.
I darted my eyes to the screen. We were still behind but had finally scored. “Look,” I said, turning to show Boris, but he wasn’t there. My eyes landed on the guy down the bar as he took a slug of Corona. Despite a loosened tie and slight bags under his eyes, he was nice-looking with a round, inviting face and an abundance of blackhair.
Cute but not the kind of attractive that turned my throat and mouth tocotton.
At least he got points for his choice ofteam.
Most importantly, he wasn’t sporting a weddingring.
My strategy clicked into place, and I had to dive in head first before I lost my nerve. I shouldered off my blazer and passed it to Sebastian. “Hold this forme?”
He dropped his eyes to my leopard-print blouse and said, “Anytime.”
“Thanks.” I picked up my lemon drop and walked by him. The crowd parted as I followed the curve of the bar, passing empty stools until I found one next to the Yankee. “Hi,” I said, placing my drink on the bar. I nodded at a bowl of nuts. “Do youmind?”
“Have at it,” hesaid.
I picked up a few cashews, happy for something to do with my hands. “I’mGeorgina.”
He wiped his hand on his trousers and held it out. “François.”
“Oh.” I chewed on the nuts and shook his hand. “Are youFrench?”
“Creole. I grew up in Louisiana. You can call me Frank, my friendsdo.”
“You’re not an Astrosfan?”
“Nope. Still root for the Saints, but even before I moved here for work, I was a Yankeesfan.”
“I’m from upstate,” I said. “It’s a tense time at home rightnow.”
He smiled, popping a few peanuts. “I hear Aaron Judge might return to the lineup thismonth.”
“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 thumbsup.
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 afavor?”
“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’tlook.”
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 ofbet?”
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 abar.”
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 didthey?”
“I did.” I shrugged a shoulder. “You’re a Yankees guy—I figured I’d find an ally inyou.”
“Anything for a comrade.” He shifted to one side, took his phone from his pocket, and unlocked it. “Can I get yournumber?”
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 totype.
“You could actually put it in there,” hesaid.
Oh . . . crap. It was either naiveté, poor planning, or a bit of both, but I hadn’t anticipated that my target might actuallywantme 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 rightnow.”
“I only asked for your number, not a date,” hesaid.
