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Has his voice always been this sexy?
Lord, what is wrong with me today?
“I wanted to see if you needed a ride to pick up your car. Also, two tickets to tonight’s Sox game just fell into my lap and after our conversation last night, I thought maybe you’d like to go with me? If nothing else for the hotdogs.” He chuckles and the sound is deep and rich. “Anyway, call me back when you get this. Game is at 7:10.” A pause, and then, “And please say yes,” he adds before the message ends.
What are the odds that the day after I told him I’d never been to a baseball game, two tickets would happen to fall into his lap fortonight’sgame? That can’t be just a coincidence, can it?
I have to resist the urge to call him back. The fact that I actually want to is a little worrisome, but I chalk it up to pure animalistic attraction. The guy is gorgeous, after all. And I am a woman with a very healthy sexual appetite. What can I say? Maybe he’s getting to me a little. Not that I see myself falling for him, but I wouldn’t be completely against causing him to lose his bet.
And the wheels are turning again. Maybe that’s it. Maybe I need to sleep with the asshole and get it out of my system. He loses and I get, well, you know. Win, win. Right? But am I seriously considering sleeping with a man I couldn’t bear to look at without wanting to punch in the throat just days ago?
Funny how quickly someone’s perspective can change. Before, I never even considered the idea because, well, I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had gotten to me, like all the other women who had come before. Now, I don’t know. It might be fun to beat him at his own game. Besides, if I win he promised to never talk to me again. There’s a silver lining after all.
But if that’s how I truly feel then why does the thought of him never speaking to me again make me feel like my hypothetical dog just died?
“Get it together,” I scold myself. This is Harris Avery. Harris-freaking-Avery. The playboy of all playboys. I’d either have to be really desperate or really stupid to sleep with a man like him, and right now I don’t feel like I’m either.
Still, there is a game to be played. And I wouldn’t mind trying these hot dogs I’ve heard so much about. Before I have time to talk myself out of it, I pull up Harris’ number and shoot him a text.
Me:I’ve got my car covered. Quick question though...how did you know which apartment I live in?
Harris:You got the flowers?
Me:I did.
Harris:I may have had someone in HR pull your file.
Me:You didn’t?
Harris:All’s fair in love.
Me:Is there nothing you won’t do?
Harris:When it comes to you? Very little.
I don’t have time to respond before another message comes through.
Harris:So, tonight’s game?
My fingers hesitate over the screen for a long moment before finally typing out a response. I hit send before I can talk myself out of it.
Me:I’m in.
——-
When Harris pulls upoutside of my apartment building I’m an absolute ball of nervous energy. Even if this is some stupid game we’re playing, it’s still nerve racking to be around Harris. He puts me on edge. I guess in a way he always has.
As I start to make my way toward the sleek, black sports car parked on the curb, Harris steps out and hits me with a smile that damn near knocks me on my ass.
He’s decked out in a Red Sox hat and shirt, and when he crosses around to the passenger side to open the door for me, I take a moment to check out how incredible his backside looks in his ‘fit just right’ jeans.
“Hey.” He smiles when I reach him.
“Hey.”
“Before you get in.” He stops me just shy of the open door and quickly leans inside, pulling out a bag. “I got this for you.” He holds it out to me.
I open the bag and pull out the contents, holding it up to get a better look.
