Page 7 of Home Game

I inwardly shuddered. 220 lbs? I glanced over at him. He was studying my card. He looked fast and strong. Exactly the type of guy I typically avoid. I prayed that I wasn’t wrong about my assessment about him.

“You’re only 20.”

“Yeah, well, you look way older than 25.”

He looked amused. “Your name’s Zobenia Petrik.”

I snatched the card out of his hand. “No one calls me that. They call me Zoey.”

He slightly raised his eyebrows while he tucked his ID away.

“Whatever,” I said, covering my anxiety with snark. “Are we going to do this or what?”

His apartment,for lack of a better word, was huge. It was the top floor and had floor-to-glass widows that overlooked the water. Everything about the place was fancy. Hardwood floors. Granite counter tops. Real wood cabinets.

It also looked completely un-lived in. Ten unpacked boxes sat stacked in the dining area. There was a huge TV set up in front of a long couch. An X-box and controls lay on the floor. The only other furniture were the bar stools that were tucked against the massive island in the kitchen.

“Why aren’t you unpacked yet?” I asked.

He looked up from his phone. “What?”

“You moved here in July. Why haven’t you unpacked?”

He frowned. “How do you know that?”

I rolled my eyes and took off my jacket. “I just did your tax receipts. The moving company receipt was for the middle of July. That was two months ago.”

“You remember that?”

“You could make this place nice if you tried.”

“I’ve been busy.”

Whatever. Some people didn’t appreciate what they had. Typical.

He switched gears. “What do you want to eat?”

It felt like my stomach was trying to eat itself. “Anything.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “There is this place called Burger Alley.”

Was he kidding me? That place was posh. Organic, grass-fed, healthy, fresh. Those burgers sold for a minimum of $12 each. “Yes.”

“You want baked yam fries? Or a salad?”

My mouth watered. Both, I wanted both. “Either is good.”

He dialed his phone. “Hey, this is Ryan. Thanks, man. Hey, can I have four of your deluxe burgers.” Our eyes met. “Two salads. Two yam fries. Give us the works. You know where I live.”

He tossed the phone on the counter. “Going to be about twenty minutes. Remote is on the couch. Washroom is down the hall.”

“Okay.”

He opened his wallet and tossed several twenties on the counter. “They’ll buzz. Let them in and pay them if I’m not back.”

“Where are you going?”

“I need to go make some phone calls.”

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