Page 15 of Hit Me With Your Best Shot

The guy raises an eyebrow and leans toward me. “What if I told you I could get you seats at the glass?”

I laugh at him again, picking up one half of my sandwich and manhandling it as I say, “I’d say you’re either delusional or you know someone important.”

“My sister,” he confesses. “She has great seats and hasn’t been going—if you want two tickets for the next home game, they’re yours.”

I feel a slice of pickle slide out the corner of my mouth.

It lands with a slimeysplaton the bar top.

“Wait, you’re serious?” I do not care that I probably have ketchup on my chin! This man is offering me tickets against the glass? Say what?!

“Totally serious,” he says, leaning back in his chair and taking another sip of water, like he didn’t drop an insane offer on me.

“Why though?” I ask, still trying to process what happened. “Those tickets cost a fortune and I am a total stranger.”

“Acutestranger.”

“Excuse me?” I manage, my voice pitching up a little too high. Is he flirting with me or am I imagining things?

He shrugs his broad shoulders, completely unbothered, lips quirking into the faintest smirk. “I can’t call you cute?”

I blink at him, feeling a flush creep up my neck. “That’s notthe point! You don’t give people tickets based on appearances. I could be a lunatic. Or a crazy stalker fan.”

“Are you?”

“No.”

“Then it’s settled. Fans should get good seats. And cute fans? Evenbetterseats.”

Did I just fall in love?

Is this love at first sight?

No. Absolutely not.

That would be ridiculous!

I do notbelievein love at first sight.

No.

That’s what happens in movies and my life has never been picture perfect—not even close. Not even a little. My love life? An even bigger mess. My last date ended with a guy who "forgot” his wallet, ordered the most expensive thing on the menu—then ghosted me when I asked if he could Venmo me the money.

I’m still waiting for that $120, by the way.

So, no.

I’m not falling for the stranger with the toothy grin and the absurdly good hair and deliciously broad shoulders who’s offering mefree, outrageously expensive VIP tickets to see my absolute favorite sports team.

Pfft.

As if.

“Are you okay?” His voice cuts through my mental spiral, pulling me back to the present. He’s watching me with one eyebrow raised.

“Huh?” I blink as I come to. “Oh, yeah. Totally fine.” Never been better. “Why?”

“You went quiet,” he says, smirking again. “I thought I broke you for a second.”

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