by Kacey Shea
Taking a sip of water between bites, I have to ask the question. “So, you really don’t gamble?”
He sets down his utensil. “Never.”
My brow lifts with my question. “Never?”
“Never.” His smile drops and he shakes his head.
“Why?” I’m not sure I’ve met someone, a man particularly, who wouldn’t take a bet.
“Let’s just say I’ve never been given a bet I couldn’t walk away from,” he says with a cocky smirk. It sounds a lot like a challenge. One I can’t wait to break.
“So, if I bet you ten dollars you can’t stuff three California rolls in your mouth, right now, you wouldn’t do it?”
He laughs and picks up one of the aforementioned rolls. “I’ll eat them, but I won’t take the bet.” He pops it in his mouth and chews through his smile.
Okay, that was food. He’s a fighter, so he’s used to denying himself the finer things in life. This time I appeal to the other driving force of a man’s psyche. Laziness and sex.
“What if I told you that you wouldn’t have to train me anymore and I would still redesign your entire website. But the only thing you have to do is go over there and ask that girl on a date.” I point to a pretty blonde. One with legs for days who can’t avert her gaze from our table for more than a few minutes even though I’m sitting right here.
He doesn’t even follow my finger. “Nope,” he says, popping the sound of the P with a giant smile.
“You’re crazy.” I shake my head and laugh. Competitiveness has always been one of my strongest qualities, and now I’m even more determined to get him to agree to a bet.
“I told you I don’t make bets. Besides, then I wouldn’t get to see your cute face anymore.”
I stick my tongue out at his fake compliment. My brain races to come up with something good. Something he can’t turn down. But it’s clear I have no clue what makes this guy tick. I think back to our earlier conversations and a stroke of either brilliance or utter idiocy flashes before my mind’s eye. My lips pull up with unbridled laughter and I brace myself for another rejection. “Okay, I’ve got one more for you.” This will be entertaining to watch.
“I’ll only bring you more disappointment.” He laughs.
“I’m sure.” I shake my head. “Okay, I bet you can’t last four dates. With me.”
“Deal,” he answers in an instant.
What the hell?
“Wait! You said you don’t take bets.” Her scowl aligns with the intensity of the spicy tuna rolls and if I were a weaker man, it’d be enough to rescind my agreement.
“I don’t. Haven’t ever, really.” My words fumble from my mouth with as much confusion as I feel.
“Then why? Why would you do that?” She seems completely appalled.
“I couldn’t turn it down.”
Her lips pinch and her glare settles on me until I give her my full attention. “Look, if I go through with this, I want to make one thing perfectly clear.” She tilts her head with a little shake and waggles her finger at the space between us. “This can never happen. We have nothing in common. You’re so . . .”
At her loss of words my brow quirks and I have to suppress my laughter. “Devastatingly handsome. Witty and dapper,” I offer with a smirk.
Her nose crinkles and she shakes her head in the negative. “I was going to say muscle-y.”
“Because I’m dedicated to fitness we won’t get along? Now who needs the lesson in judging a book by its cover.”
“That along with how you think cosplay is stupid. I’m guessing you also don’t share my love for zombies or video games. Yes, I don’t think we have much beyond . . .” This time when her voice trails off, her gaze travels from my lips to my chest and stutters where the rest of my body is hidden under the table. For someone who protests, her body language shows differently.
“Sex.” My grin pulls wide.
“Yeah.” She spits the words out with distaste and gives a shrug. “So, why waste time going down a dead end road?”
I consider her question by tapping one finger against my chin. “They say the road less traveled is often filled with surprising insight.”
“I highly doubt that.” She snorts and rolls her eyes but I catch the trace of a grin trying to break through.
“Ever the cynic.” I wink, lean forward, and pick up my chopsticks before selecting another piece of sushi. “Look, give me four dates. If you don’t like where it leads—”
“Why?” she interrupts, knocking my utensils out of reach with hers and plucking the last piece of tuna roll off the platter.
I wait until she glances back up to meet my stare. I need her to witness my sincerity, to see this isn’t some joke. But I also don’t want to scare her. The fact is, I haven’t been interested in a woman like Mia, ever. I’m pretty sure she’s one of a kind. More complicated than the calculus class I struggled through in high school. But I’m not sitting where I am because I like math. I’m street smart. I’m the underdog who always pulls ahead for the win. It takes strategy and a little finesse when going up against an unknown opponent, but I’m not at all intimidated.
“To see who’s right. If we don’t click . . . If there isn’t more than this . . .” I use my sticks to point back and forth between us.
“Sushi?” She raises a brow.
My smile grows as she begins to return it. “Attraction. Then I’ll take my ball and go home, and you can say you were right.”
“What’s in it for you?” She studies me, looking for what? A tell? If so, she’d make a great fighter. Seeing things others don’t, the little clues people give when most aren’t paying attention, making it difficult to pull a fast one over a person like her.
Rather than feed her a lie or coerce her agreement, I go with honesty. “Obvious. If I’m right, then I win more than bragging rights.”
Her eyes train on me and she nods once. “Fine. But no sex.” She pops sushi in her mouth and chews while holding my stare.
My brows rise and I nod slowly. “No sex? Interesting move. Okay. Deal.”
Her scowl is in place as she takes a sip of water. “I mean it. The smoldering looks, the shirtless encounters. You keep that shit to yourself, Haywood.”
Laughter bubbles from my belly. I caught her sneaking looks at my body when we trained Thursday night. It was too bloody hot in the gym and I’d been running drills alongside the guys so I’d ditched my shirt before she even walked inside. I saw her checking me out, but she did a good job masking how much it affected her. Now that I know, it only makes me smile harder. “That’s not sex, Mia. You said no sex, so we won’t fuck. For four dates. Though I don’t know why because that seems more like a punishment for yourself, not me.”
She clears just enough breath in her throat to scoff, “Arrogant much.”
“Confident. Anyway, I agree to your terms. Are you brave enough to call or will you fold now that my exposed abs are on the table?”
Her gaze narrows and I could almost kick myself because I probably pushed too far with that last jab. I’m a fighter and I’m trained to go the extra mile, push the limit, and go until I literally can’t, but that strategy doesn’t necessarily work when it comes to verbal combat with a prospective date.
“Fine.”
My eyes widen, and a smile tugs at the corner of my lips because Mia is a contradiction. Hot and geeky. Smart and snarky. I don’t know what to expect with her, but she leaves me wanting more. I can’t believe my luck. “Fine?”
“Yeah, I said fine.” She exhales and shrugs, glancing around the restaurant.
“Maybe bring more enthusiasm to this . . . experiment.” My smile pulls wider and I wink.
Her chest rises and falls with a loud exhale. I get the feeling she’d like to roll her eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Great. Now, how about you help me out with a little pre-date prep?” I take a bite of food, my gaze on her as she sighs and leans back into her chair.
“I’m not going to
plan our dates. This was your idea. I only conceded.” She throws her hands up.
“Not planning. This is more of a fact finding mission. Can I ask you a few questions?”
“Fine.” She goes for another bite of food. I like that she brings her appetite, that she even has one when so many women don’t. “Shoot.”
I rub my hands together and make a show before I ask the question. “If a man were to brush up on his zombie lore, where would you suggest he begin?”
Her eyes light up and I can tell from that alone how much she really loves this topic. As if her being dressed up as one last weekend wasn’t enough proof. “Wow. I don’t even know. What do you enjoy the most? Action? Satire? Books? Film?”
“I like it all, but I want to know what you like. What’s the thing that got you hooked on your zombie way of life?”
She actually grins with the question, her lips painting an uninhibited openness across her face. “Oh, well, I’m a purist, you know, so that would have to be the comic books.”
I wince, not able to help myself from riling her up. “Yeah, I’m not a little boy, so . . .”
“There you go, being all judgey again.”
“There you go, making up words. I’m not going to read a comic book.”
She purses her lips. “You’re no fun. Okay, then watch The Walking Dead.”
“Can do.” I nod and our server sets down the check. I grab for my wallet and she does the same. “I’ve got this.” I reach for the bill but she stops me with her hand.
“No way. We’ll split it.”
“What? No. I owe you after everything you’ve done for my website.” I try to pull it back but she won’t let go.
“No, that wasn’t the deal. Self-defense for web design. Dinner was never a part of it.”
“Fine.” I shake my head and she finally releases my hand, laying down cash for her portion on top of the check with a smug smile. “You gonna at least let me pay for our four dates?” I ask only because it’s entertaining how independent she is. I like it, actually, that she’s the type of woman who doesn’t need anything from anyone.
She shrugs, watching as I put down cash for the rest of the bill. “Depends.”
A chuckle leaves my lips. “We can fight that out later.”
She stands from her chair, loops her bag across her chest, and I follow behind as we weave through the busy restaurant. Reaching ahead of her to hold open the door, we both step onto the street. It’s a gorgeous fall night. Cool but not freezing and the air hits my exposed skin with a refreshing breeze.
“So, I should probably go . . .” She points toward the bus stop but doesn’t make a move to leave.
I take a step forward, enough that she has to lift her chin to meet my stare. “Mia.” Her name escapes my mouth in a whisper.
Her chest rises and falls with her quickening breath and it takes everything I have to not drop my gaze to her luscious curves. I’m glad I don’t because I want her to know I’m into more than just her body. I find her attractive, yes, but that’s not the only pull she has on me. There are thousands of beautiful women in the world. Mia’s more. More than she lets on or lets others see, and that’s the challenge she brings. Her circle’s small, but so is mine. I want in.
“Matt.” Her eyes fall heavy as she holds my stare.
I should keep my hands to myself, I know I should, but I have to reach out and touch her. My hand reaches forward to rest gently above her hip. “I’m really looking forward to our date.”
She struggles to form words, her gaze trained on my lips, and my eyes can’t help but return the sentiment. The space between us charges with a current that pulls as much as it pushes. If we hadn’t made a deal I’d be lost to it, lean down and fill the void between us until our lips meet, but I hold on to the rush that comes from not giving in to instant gratification. Instead of frustration, I’m rewarded with even more anticipation for our first date.
“How ’bout Sunday?”
“Sunday?” she parrots as though she didn’t understand the question and then shakes her head, stepping back to break the spell between us. “Right. Our date. Yeah, next Sunday is good.”
“Gives you an entire week.” I grin and her brows knit as soon I do.
“A week for what?”
“To get excited about our first date.” I wink but she rolls her eyes.
“Don’t go dragging this out. I said four, but I don’t want to be dating you for months.” A passing couple gives Mia the side eye after overhearing her comment and I can’t help but laugh out loud.
“Fine. Four dates. But that doesn’t include training, so I’ll see you Tuesday night at the gym.”
“Right. Bye, Matt.” She turns and rushes down the block, not even stopping to wait at the bus stop. It’s as if she can’t get away fast enough. Maybe she can’t.
What did I get myself into with this girl? I’m not exactly sure, but something tells me I’m going to love every second.
I can’t believe I agreed to date Matt Haywood. Why would I do that? I can’t come up with a good explanation. Worse, it’s my own damn fault. I can’t back down or fall through now. That’s even more intimidating than admitting a tiny piece of me is scared shitless to go out with that beast of a man.
Dread, along with a little self-loathing, fill my mind during my Monday commute. The train ride unusually angst-inspiring as I make my way uptown. Our investors are flying in from LA for a presentation on Project X this afternoon and dinner afterward, and there’s the sliver of fear that they won’t be satisfied with my work. I’ve poured so much of myself into this game over the past year—from conception to development—and I can only assume it’s the closest I’ll ever identify with parenthood. I’m so damn proud of my video game baby and I want others to acknowledge it’s perfect and wonderful, too.
My heeled boots click against the marble floor of our building, and I strip off my wool coat as the heat inside instantly kills the crisp cold from outdoors. Since the investors are in town, we all have to dress corporate casual this week. I don’t mind since it’s not an everyday thing. I look damn good in this outfit and these heels have magical powers. In them I feel fierce, and it helps that they add a good four inches to my stature.
It’s always entertaining to see who forgets or didn’t read their reminder email and shows up clad in faded denim. Jared and I actually have a running bet, and in my eight years with the company my record’s twelve for nineteen. If the new intern, Aarav, comes in wearing a pair of jeans and one of his ironic tees I’ll add another point to my bragging rights.
Straightening my pencil skirt in the elevator, I check to make sure none of the buttons are open on my blouse before I step off at the twelfth floor. I’ve almost forgotten about my stupidity from last night—almost—and decide to put the entire dating-my-hot-trainer-thing behind me for the rest of the day so I’ll stay focused. I’ve worked so long for this, a culmination of so many different puzzle pieces, and nothing can ruin it for me. Not even an overly attractive and infuriatingly nice man with an almost shared twisted sense of humor. Nope.
Starting up my computer, I check my email and go through my to-do list for the day.
“Hi, Mia. Ready to play with the big boys?” Nick stands at the opening of my cubicle. Nick the dick. Of course, he chooses now to stop by and chat. As if I need another reminder as to why dating is horrible for my health.
“Hey, Nick.” Go away, I have shit to do. Do I have to physically kick you in the nuts to get you to stay away? What did I ever see in you? All of these questions race through my mind and are suited to my feelings, but instead I go with something more socially acceptable. “What do you need?”
“I saw you come in. Thought maybe you’d like to grab a cup of coffee in the break room. You look . . . really good.”
I was expecting a “When can we go over the budget,” or even “How was your weekend?” Instead, he’s so out of left field my mind has trouble processing, and for once I’m at a loss for words.
“Uh . . .”
He blows out a deep breath, straightens the frames of his glasses on the bridge of his nose, and eyes me appreciatively. His lips tick up at the edges with his boyish smile. “I’m not gonna lie, in all my preteen Lois Lane days I never even imagined her as hot as you.”
Okay, we’re done. “Nick. There’s this thing called sexual harassment in the workplace. Don’t make me take a walk to HR.”
“God, it’s only a compliment.” His smile fades and he shakes his head as if I’m the one with a problem. “You used to appreciate things like that.”
Forcing my lips into a wide smile, I hold his stare. “Yeah, well, that was before I met your girlfriend. How’s she doing, by the way?”
His gaze drops to the industrial carpet and he kicks at it with the toe of his shiny leather shoes. “We . . . uh . . . broke up, actually.”
“Ah.” That actually explains a lot, but nothing I’m interested in exploring further. “Okay. Well, then, I should . . .” I turn to go back to my computer but he cuts me off, stepping inside my workspace and holding my swivel chair motionless with one hand.
“Nick?” It’s sort of alarming how he’s staring at me. As if he’s going to try to kiss me or something. I flip through the different ways I can push him off of me if he does.
“Mia, I’m sorry.”
“Oh.” Not expecting that.
“I care about you. I never meant to screw things up between us. I never meant for that to happen. But you’re so fucking perfect, and those tequila shooters didn’t help. I couldn’t stop what was happening between us and I realize now that I should have. Please tell me I still have a shot with you.”
A shot? What kind of crack did he smoke this morning? “You have a better chance of scoring a goal with your World Cup Soccer pinball machine. Nick, I don’t do cheaters.”
“I would never—”
“No. You would, ’cause you did already. With me. I don’t want to hear how I’m different or how you’ve learned your lesson. Save your breath. And please remove yourself from my office before I shove the heel of my shoe into your khaki pants.”