Page 10 of Strike Zone

“You need me—” I begin to say.

“I certainly do not need you.” The firm set in Wren’s jaw and the way her eyebrows bunch together is fucking adorable.

“Think whatever you want but deep down you know I’m right. You do the same things every week. You run your life by schedules and checklists.”

“There is nothing wrong with being organized and prepared.” She gestures toward her weekly rations.

“Meet me at The Armory this weekend. Bring Charlie.” I give her a pointed look. “I will buy Charlie some hot wings and check date one off the list. Look at me speaking your language.” I wink at her. “Then I’ll give you your first lesson in the fine art of letting loose.”

Wren stares down at the floor. You can practically hear her making a mental pros and cons list in her head.

“Fine,” she agrees. “I’ll get Charlie to go to The Armory.”

“Thank you.” Fucking finally.

She steps into my personal space and places a warm palm on my chest. My skin buzzes through my T-shirt where she’s touching me. Her gaze is trained on her manicured fingernails. I wonder if she feels it too.

“I’ll play your little game. You can teach me all about letting my hair down since I have so much to learn.” She pats my chest twice before dropping her hand.

“Your sarcasm is moving. What’s your phone number?” I ask, pulling my phone from my pocket.

“That hardly seems necessary.”

“I need to be able to contact you and make plans. It’s necessary.”

With a roll of her eyes, she reluctantly gives me her number and I program it into my phone.

“I’ll be in touch.”

“Can’t wait.” Wren grimaces.

Me either. A few more days and I can get Charlie out of my system and put an end to this game I keep playing with Wren.

3

WREN

WYATT

What are you doing?

I just got out of practice.

You should have seen me.

I was on fire today.

Tonight is the night.

We’re going out to celebrate.

The Armory has half price beers and 25 cent wings.

“Who’s blowing up your phone?” Charlie asks from the living room. I’m surprised she can hear the incessant buzzing over the reality television show she is watching.

I continue to ignore my phone. I’m sitting at the kitchen island updating my to-do list for next week. I don’t want to deal with him and his text messages right now.

“Wyatt Rivers.” My phone buzzes again as if I’ve summoned him from his lair. He has been texting me non-stop over the last forty-eight hours. I knew it was a bad idea to give him my phone number.

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