Page 16 of Hit Me With Your Best Shot

My head shakes. “Honestly, it’s because I don’t know what to say.”

My heart wants to burst with excitement and I bite down on my bottom lip to stop any word vomit.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but—can I get your number?” the guy says. “I’ll have to message you the QR code.”

“Oh,” I say, surprised, but not in a bad way. “Yeah, of course.”

I rattle off my cell, and stare at his hands as his fingers deftly type my numbers into his phone. Big. Strong hands.

Rough looking.

Man hands…

A moment later, my phone buzzes.

“There.” He slips his phone back into the back pocket of his jeans. “Tickets should be there.”

I glance down at my phone, the confirmation text lighting up the screen. My eyes widen, and I can’t help the soft gasp that escapes my lips.

“Wow,” I murmur, feeling a mix of awe and unease settle in my chest. “Thank you, seriously. This is so?—”

“Generous? Thoughtful? Too good to be true?” he cuts in, smirking.

“Yes.” I squint at him as he stands, digs into his back pocket for his wallet. From it, he pulls out several crisp bills and places them on the bar, tipping the bartender generously. Too generously, in my opinion because he was only drinking water, but who am I to judge? “Unless your plan is to murder me.”

It’s meant to be a joke, but even as the words leave my mouth, a tiny voice in the back of my head wonders if I should be more cautious. After all, no one is this perfect without a catch.

“Too late for take-backs,” the guy announces. “Already have your number.”

Oh shit. That’s right.

My stomach dips at how easily I handed over my phone without much thought, and now I’m suddenly regretting it.

“Well if you’re going to murder me, shouldn’t I at least have your name?”

He glances over his shoulder, his smirk back in full force as he pulls on a leather jacket. “My friends and sister sometimes call me Gee.”

“G. Like theletter?”

He nods. “Yup—like the letter.”

I tilt my head, trying to make sense of it. “Is that your real name, or are you trying to make yourself harder to track when you inevitably end up on the evening news?”

He is in no rush to defend himself. “Stick around long enough, and you’ll find out. What’s yours?”

“Austin,” I feel oddly self-conscious under his gaze.

He seems to mull it over for a moment, his head tilting slightly, and I brace myself for whatever witty remark he’s about to throw my way. Trust me, I’ve heard the jokes before; stupid comments about Texas, the song with the same title—you name it.

Instead, he watches me several moments before saying, “That’s pretty,” and I blush from the roots of my hair down to the tips of my toes.

He steps closer, closing the small distance between us, and for a moment, I think he’s going to say something else. Instead, he reaches out and gently tugs at the sleeve of my jacket, almost like a reflex.

“Take care, Austin.” The guy winks and I suppress a shiver. “I’ll be in touch.”

I stand frozen for a beat, staring at the space he’s vacated. My mind races, half tempted to chase him down and demand more answers. Who evenwasthis guy? Gee? G? What’s his real name? And what was his deal, swooping in and leaving like some kind of mysterious knight in shining tinfoil?

I let out a labored sigh and force myself to look down at my phone and swipe on the screen to look at my new message:“Let me know if you need anything else for the game.”

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