Page 35 of Playing the Field
I take a closer look at Steve sitting on a sailboat with a group of his friends. Each holds a drink in his hand and smiles broadly at the camera, wearing sunglasses or a baseball hat. They all look wholesome. If you’d asked me two months ago what kind of guy I’d end up with, I’d have pointed at any one of them and felt like he was a good bet.
The only thing that’s changed now is the amount of time I’ve spent with Hunter, and that has no business changing my outlook on dating.
“Aw, that’s awesome.”
She nods. “He’s a sweetie. And he has lots of single friends.” Istart to wonder if her mission to find me a date is a way to find common ground. If I date one of Steve’s friends, we can hang out as a couple. It doesn’t sound like a terrible idea, especially since I need something to distract me from thinking about Hunter all the time.
The bet he and I made drifts into my mind, but I dismiss all concern. One date with the friend of a “sweetie” is not going to lead to a hookup. That’s not me. Hunter is all but certain to lose that bet, although he’s trying pretty hard to hold up his end. I’ve come and gone at some early and late hours, and there’s been no sign of a woman at Ky’s house.
For the first time, I consider whether I’ve made a sucker’s bet, based on rumors that have no bearing on the guy I’ve gotten to know a little bit since he moved in. It makes me think about Hunter more than I should.
Mixing work and dating did not end well for me before, so I’m the last person who should be entertaining the thought. Besides, even if Hunter isn’t dating a string of women, it doesn’t mean he wants to date me. We couldn’t be more opposite, and if he does have a type, it’s certainly not a curvy nerd girl who bakes.
He and I are a non-starter, so maybe the best thing I can do is go on a date with someone else. Someone who has nothing to do with soccer or data. A pharmacist, perhaps. Or a drummer. He doesn’t need to have tattoos. He doesn’t need carved muscles. He needs to be nice. And maybe even a little bit nerdy so I don’t feel nervous around him.
“Okay,” I agree. “Set me up.”
CHAPTER 19
Hunter
Gracie has been lingeringin the living room for the last hour wearing a blazer and the kind of dress I’ve never seen her wear to work. It’s a black slip of a dress that hugs every curve, and I can’t make myself look away.
It’s short, leaving a few inches of skin visible above her knees, which is the view I’ve become accustomed to whenever I catch her in that little outfit she wears to sleep. And while I’m grateful to see her legs on display, I’m wondering why they’re on display. And who they’re on display for…because I’m pretty certain it’s not me.
I’ve been watching her from the kitchen, where I’m sipping a berry smoothie and leaning my elbows on the counter, staring at my phone. But really, I’m staring at her.
Every so often, she looks toward the front door, which hasn’t moved or made a sound, so I’m not sure why she’s so jittery. I do have my theories, however.
“You waiting for someone?” I ask, finally. Her nervous energy is making me nervous, and at least talking to her gives me an excuse to walk over to where she’s sitting. That’s when I notice the low cut of the dress. It’s different from the crew neck sweaters she wears to work. Even when she throws on some piece of team gear, it’s usually the zippered jacket over a crew neck shirt. She doesn’t show skin, which is only appropriate for the workplace.
I’ve taken to feeling kind of special being the only one at the Devils franchise who sees her in less, not that I run around telling people our head of data operations has knockout legs and great tits. It’s my secret.
“Um, yeah, I am.” She adjusts her dress, giving me a glimpse of a black bra cup beneath it. Her cleavage makes a seductive V that has me following the curve of her breasts as low as I can see.
When I look up, I catch her surprised look at me ogling her. “You look good, Tink. Are you getting ready to lose our bet?”
She looks down as the flush invades her cheeks and starts to adjust the dress.
“Hey, wait. No. I didn’t mean to imply you’re out for a hookup, only that no guy would be able to resist you. If you’re going out with a guy, he’s lucky to be with you. That’s all. Not because you have a gorgeous rack.”
“Hunter!”
“Sorry! Just being honest.”
“Well, stop!”
“Sorry,” I say again. But I’m not sorry. Riling her up and earning that blush has become my new favorite hobby. As I return us to the bantering I’m used to, I forget for a moment that she’s dressed like that for another guy. The thought comes barreling back, and I frown.
“So who’s the guy, anyway?” I ask.
She looks away. “Blind date. Ashley set me up,” she mumbles.
I feel both relieved and depressed by the idea. Relievedbecause she doesn’t even know him, which means there’s a decent chance she won’t like him enough for a second date. But what if she does? His liking her isn’t even a discussion. The second he realizes her fierce brainpower resides in a package that beautiful, he’ll be picking out engagement rings.
So why aren’t you working harder to win her over?
The thought comes unbidden, but I have an easy answer. Because I’m a hotheaded athlete who didn’t finish college. I’m not fucking good enough for Gracie Albright, and she’ll prove that by kicking ass at her job and moving back to Silicon Valley, where she belongs with the other geniuses.
