Page 5 of Game Misconduct

“Oh, no, I’m not from Ohio,” I assure her. “Just passing through.”

She smiles. “Okay, good. You can hang out, then.”

Against my will, my mouth quirks into a facsimile of a smile. “Thanks. I’d hate to get kicked out. I just got here.”

“Yeah, we couldn’t have that.” She sips from her drink, which is mostly melted ice with about an inch of dark soda.

“Need another?” I nod to her drink.

Her eyes flicker down my face, then my body, then linger on my bushy playoff beard. I’m not ready to part with it.

“Yeah, okay,” she finally says. “My friends call me Bex.”

“Nick.” I offer my hand and am pleased when she takes it. Maybe we can be friends… for a few hours, at least.

Her palm is soft and smooth, and a spark jumps between us. I swallow and look away. Picking up my beer, I bring it to my lips and drain the last third, then make eye contact with the bartender. “Another, please, and whatever she’s having.” I hand over my card to start a tab.

“Rum and Coke, please,” Bex orders. “Oh, and cheese fries.”

“I approve.”

Bex smirks. “Oh, goody. All I want in life is the approval of random men in bars.”

Shaking my head, I hide my smile and tip the bill of my hat. “Happy to oblige.”

From the way her grin widens, there might be more truth to her statement than she intended.

“You come here often?” I ask as the bartender delivers our drinks.

She snorts. “Smooth.”

“You already know I’m just passing through.”

“Same here. Had a job interview.” She frowns, swirling her ice through her drink. “Don’t think I’m going to take it, though.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t know if I could stomach living in Ohio,” she admits, and it’s my turn to snort. That’s what I’ve always told Elsy. “Also, it’s not exactly my field of research, and I like what I’m studying.”

“What are you studying?”

“I’m a biostatistician with a focus in genetic epidemiology,” she says.

I nearly fall off my stool. “What?”

She’s gorgeous and smart? Talk about winning the lottery. And her body… fuck, I could get lost between her thick thighs or with my face buried in her chest and die a happy man. My hands itch to touch her, to run my fingers through her red hair or stroke her skin.

While I’m reeling through in fantasies, though, Bex’s faint smile drops.

“That sounds super cool,” I tell her. “What exactly is it that you do?”

She rolls her eyes. “You don’t have to pretend to care. It’s okay. I get it, it sounds boring.”

“It doesn’t, though.” I twist toward her, setting my foot on the bottom rung of her barstool. “Tell me about it.”

“I study genetic risk factors in populations for specific diseases.” She says this matter-of-factly, but with her guard up, like she’s expecting me to tear her down.

“That’s absolutely fascinating.”