He took the bag and went to the bear-proofed-as-could-be trash bins and tossed everything inside. “Come on.”
Disappointment registered like a boulder sitting on top of my delicious chicken primavera.
A sneaky part of my brain insisted that Tenor just didn’t want to be seen with me. He’d told me his reasoning and it was awful. But really, I couldn’t shake the conviction that he just didn’t want to be saddled with a fake date. Regardless, I followed him like a good little girl.
When he turned the truck toward town instead of out of it, I frowned at him. “Where are you going?”
“To prove a point.” His eyes were narrowed behind those thick frames, and the rest of his profile was strong under his hat. He parked downtown. The coffee shop was across from us, closed for the night. The only places open downtown were the bars and I hadn’t been to any of them. The closest was Flatlanders Prohibited, two blocks away.
I tugged the hem of my skirt down. I wasn’t used to sitting right next to a guy while I wore it. The damn thing really did ride up. “I hate to say it, Tenor, but there’s no point getting proved.” Only that he could drive me anywhere and I’d go without question. Maybe one question, but seriously, I didn’t care about his answer.
“You’re going to go in first,” he said, pointing to Flatlanders.
“In the bar?” Pickups lined the curb in front, but the bar wasn’t as busy as Curly’s. Didn’t mean people wouldn’t stare and talk.
“Sit at the bar and order whatever you want,” he continued. “Then see if you even have to pay for that first drink, or any of the ones after.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“You think I’m lying about the male attention you get. I think you’re oblivious.”
I wasn’t oblivious. I was practical. “Brock told me that ‘adorkable’ wasn’t sexy.”
“We’ve already established that Brock knows two things, and that’s jack and shit.”
I sputtered out a laugh. “Oh my god. No, we haven’t explicitly said that, but now that you have, I agree. Still... Cara’s beautiful and sophisticated. I’d date her if I didn’t know how toxic she was.”
“You’re hands down prettier than her.”
I drew back. “No, I’m not.” I looked like a rabid poodle on my best days. After college, I’d been terrified I wouldn’t land a marketing job because I didn’t market myself well. I wore clothing I liked, not what was in fashion. I knew what was in fashion. I could identify trends and then mimic them. But others would see me and wonder how in the world I could be together enough to run a social media page. The Baileys had taken a chance on me because I could identify patterns, what was working, and understand the algorithm. I’d been observing the world my whole life. Social media was turning those observations into posts.
Tenor clenched his jaw and tipped his hat toward the bar. “Go in first. Pretend you don’t notice me when I go in. I’ll sit in the corner.”
Uh, no. I would not be going into a bar to get ignored in front of the man I wished I could tempt the most. “I thought Scott Townsend hated the Baileys.” Wynter had filled me in when she’d given me the tour through town my first time in Bourbon Canyon.
“I heard he’s out of town this week, and this place attracts more single guys than couples, but I don’t think that’ll be an issue. You’ll probably get at least one drink from a guy with a wedding ring.”
Add that to the list of things I didn’t want to experience tonight. “Why are you so confident? I’m the one with history in this exact subject.”
“You’ve hung out at a lot of bars?” A gotcha glint lit the yellow in his eyes when he saw the answer on my face. “So when you went out, you were usually on a date?”
I knew what he was getting at, and I was ready to concede. Since I was digging my own humiliation hole, I’d add to it. “I read on my nights off, doesn’t matter if it’s a weekend or not. I’m thinking about getting a cat.”
The corner of his mouth tipped up. “Let me know when you’re ready for one. We always have barn cats that are cuddle monsters.”
Figured he was a cat guy. Since he was so damn perfect already. “You can see I’m well on my way to cat-lady status. I’m not getting hit on in bars.”
“Prove it.”
Something inside me woke to the challenge. “Fine. But you’re going to have to, like... fake date me even harder to make up for this.”
His pupils dilated. My cheeks were on fire. What—the hell—had I just said?
He leaned over the console. “If I’m right, you’re going to have to wear a skirt every night you’re at my house and I’m not even going to hide how much I like checking out your legs.”
He sounded serious, as if he couldn’t wait for the next skirt I wore.
I had a closet full of them.
