Page 28 of Playing for Love

Fuck. My gut tightened with longing, wishing that look was aimed at me. I turned to Denise.

“She has a point,” I said.

Denise made a face, but I could tell she would be a good sport about it.

“You don’t like football?” Tate asked her.

She shook her head. “Not even a little. Ironic, isn’t it?”

Tate nodded and slid his eyes to me. I ignored him. Didn’t want to see sympathy or incredulity or whatever else he thought. My heart hammered as the waiter appeared, thank God, and asked for our drink orders. It wasn’t the first time I felt that anxiety, that feeling that this was all terribly wrong, whatever the hell I had going with Denise. It was even hard to think of her as my girlfriend anymore.

“Glenlivet. Rocks.”

Denise gave me a sharp look and ordered her usual white wine.

“Since we’re celebrating,” Mia said, “and it’s still summertime, I’ll have a frozen margarita. With salt.”

“I’ll have a Sam Adams,” Tate said.

The lines were drawn. It was an odd feeling, an odd sense that I was mismatched. That I should be the one with Mia. The same exact feeling I had that first time I had dinner with Mia four years ago.

Damn it.