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Sighing, I drop into my chair before I pull on the red ribbon wrapped around the box.
I open the lid and stare at what’s inside.
“What the hell?” I chuckle. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Nestled in white tissue paper is a navy blue T-shirt. Front and center is the logo of a baseball team.
The New York Yankees.
Laughing, I pick it up. I spot a card under it.
I read it with an uncontrollable smile on my face the entire time.
If I win our tournament, you have to wear this for an entire day.
Your choice on what I wear if you win.
(There’s zero chance in hell that will happen.)
Bianca xx
I need to practice my pinball skills because I have no intention of losing. I’m going to win, and when I do, I don’t want Bianca in a Mets T-shirt. I want her nude in bed next to me.
Chapter 26
Bianca
Roman beat me to Easton Pub.
I didn’t specify a time on the note I sent him earlier this week. I had hoped to be out of the office early so I would have time to stop at home, change clothes and get myself together before meeting him.
That didn’t happen.
I had a five o’clock meeting that ran long. As soon as it was over, I left the office, hopped on the subway, and made my way here.
I intended to wear jeans and a cute black blouse I picked up this week, but I’m stuck in the soft gray dress I wore to work this morning.
I smooth my hands over the skirt as I swing open the door to the pub.
Roman was standing near the bar when I first spotted him through the window. His gaze was stuck on his phone, so it gave me a chance to check him out.
I’m not the only one doing that.
A blonde woman sitting next to him is staring at him.
I can’t blame her. He looks amazing dressed in a pair of gray pants and a black sweater.
I watch as she taps him on the forearm. That’s enough to draw his attention to her. They exchange words, and with a shake of his head, she slides off the barstool and walks away.
His gaze doesn’t follow her. Instead, it shifts to the doorway. He smiles the instant he sees me.
I walk toward him, trying not to shake in my shoes.
Even though I had reservations, I took the initiative to arrange our date tonight. I’m the one who bought the New York Yankees T-shirt, wrapped it up, and had it delivered to him.
My stomach was twisting in nervous knots until a bouquet of daisies arrived at my office on Tuesday afternoon.
The note attached to them was short and sweet.
Friday, it is.
Roman
The daisies were a constant reminder that tonight we’ll have another date, likely another kiss, and maybe more.
“You look stunning, Bianca,” Roman says as soon as I’m near him.
I want to tell him he does as well, but the words are stuck in my throat. He’s sporting late-day stubble that makes him look slightly untamed. It’s a look I could get used to.
“Thank you for the daisies,” I whisper as he goes in for a soft kiss on my cheek.
“I’d thank you for the T-shirt, but...”
“But,” I interrupt. “I hope you have it on under that sweater. I intend on winning tonight. I expect you to start wearing the shirt at midnight.”
He tugs on the collar of his sweater. “No T-shirt.”
I toss him an over-exaggerated frown. “Does that mean you think you’ll win?”
“I know I will,” he says with confidence.
I stare into the deep brown richness of his eyes. “Arrogance is not a substitute for skill, Roman.”
“I’m aware.” He fights to hold back a smile. “When I’m playing for high stakes, I tend to come out on top.”
There’s so much hidden innuendo in that statement that I take a step back. “Roman.”
“Bianca.” My name rolls off his tongue with a bite in it.
I arch a brow. “You really don’t want to wear that T-shirt I sent you.”
He leans closer, skirting his lips over the soft flesh of my cheek. “I really want to win because I get to choose what you wear.”
I almost sigh aloud when he kisses me softly and swiftly. “You’re not winning. I won’t be wearing a New York Mets T-shirt tomorrow.”
He lifts a hand to trail his index finger over my chin. “When I win, and I will, you’ll be wearing nothing tonight.”
My heart pounds inside my chest. “Nothing? Tonight?”
His eyes rake me over. “You’re about to lose in the best possible way. Let’s get started.”
I glance over at the pinball machine. What happens tonight depends on whether I can pull off a win.
Or an intentional loss.
***
“Best two out of three, Roman?” I challenge. “I was distracted, so your win doesn’t count.”
I’m not lying.
John decided to call me for an update about my late-day meeting as I was in the middle of a great run on the machine.
