Page 15 of Strike Zone

“I may have heard it once or twice.” I squirm in my seat, putting some distance between us. It could be the other bar patrons crowding around us, but Wyatt keeps inching closer to me the longer we stay talking.

“You’re quite perplexing.” His grin is immediate knowing what he just did. “That’s my first for the day. How many do you have?”

My eyes narrow. “You aren’t playing.” I pull up the notes app on my phone anyway. I keep track of my word of the day tally marks here as well as in my planner. “I have two.” The satisfaction of beating him feels better than it should.

“Oh yes, I am. I like playing games with you. It’s fun.”

“Are you admitting another thing I like to do is fun?” I dig into my purse for the list I made earlier with things I’m willing to try in the name of having more fun. There’s no way I’m giving him that much control. “If that’s the case, we should forget about the whole ‘teach me’ part of the evening.” I hold up the slip of paper. “We can end this whole thing now.”

Shaking his head, he snatches the piece of paper from my hand. “The game itself isn’t fun. But getting you angry is a whole lot of fun.” He reads over my list, his lip twitching with every word. “Nice try,” he says, crumpling up my list.

“Hey! I worked hard on that.” I wrestle with his arm, attempting to steal the paper back. He sends it flying into the trash can behind the bar before I even get close.

“Part of the fun is being spontaneous. I’ll let you know when it’s time to try something new. In the meantime, put my name on your scorecard and give me a mark. Whoever has the most tally marks at the end of the week gets a prize.”

“This isn’t elementary school, Wyatt. I don’t have a treasure box full of prizes you can pick from.”

“You sure about that?” His eyes sweep over my body and my face bursts into flames.

“If you’re insinuating what I think you are, then fine. I have a world of wonders down there.” I lean on the bar. “But that treasure is at my fingertips. Not yours.” I wiggle my fingers in his face.

He swallows hard. I relish in the satisfaction of shutting him up. “Perplexing,” he says, then nods toward my phone.

“That doesn’t count.” I practically screech. “You can’t say the word by itself and expect a point. That is cheating. You have to use it in a sentence.”

“Here you go with all your rules again, Wren. You can’t have a good time when you’re tying yourself down with all these limitations.”

“Not everyone can be lawless like you.” I surge toward him in annoyance.

“And not everyone wants to live their life like it’s already over.” He leans further into my space until we’re practically nose to nose.

His warm breath fans over my face. Brown eyes challenge my blue ones before dropping to my lips. He inhales, siphoning what’s left of oxygen between us. I’m finding it hard to breathe but I refuse to move and let him think he’s won or has any kind of effect on me.

Because he doesn’t. It’s the tequila making me feel warm and fuzzy.

His eyes bounce back to mine. They are full of mirth and amusement. I don’t know what he saw in my eyes just now, but he’s wrong. I turn toward the bartender and attempt to get his attention. Why is it so difficult to get a drink in this place?

Beside me, he chuckles to himself. “I’m glad my frustration amuses you.” My glasses slip down my nose, irritating me further.

“Hey, Tony. Can we get another round over here?” Wyatt calls out to the bartender who is mixing drinks at the other end of the bar. Tony raises his hand in acknowledgment.

“Do you always get what you want?” I ask when our drinks are placed in front of us moments later.

“If I got everything I wanted, I wouldn’t be sitting here with you. Would I?”

“No, I doubt that you would.” I do my best to mask the sting of rejection I feel. Which is silly, because I don’t want to be picked by this man. I want him to leave me alone. “Yet, you are still here. Why? I’m not forcing you to stay. You can leave at any time. Don’t let me stop you.”

I turn towards the bar and pretend to be interested in the basketball game on the television. I know nothing about the sport, or any sport really, but it’s better than looking at him.

Wyatt leans on the bar, angling his body in a way that puts him in my peripheral vision. “Then who would get you drinks? You’d be so thirsty without me.” The innuendo drips off his tongue.

I hate him. But he’s right about one thing. It is fun to verbally spar and play this little game with him. I like that neither one of us is willing to back down from the other.

“You don’t think I could get someone else in this bar to get me a drink.”

“Oh, I’m sure you could. But that would involve loosening the reins and having a good time. That is where you’re going to fail.”

“I don’t fail at anything,” I say with conviction.

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