Way to scare her off, asshole.
My fingers fly over the screen as I type my next message. The last thing I want to do is make her feel bad when she’s asking for help. Besides, it’s not like I have anything else to do. Reid’s zoned out, and we’re still an hour from College Park.
Me: If you want to meet a guy, you need to be approachable. Most guys are scared shitless of rejection. Try hanging out at the bar. Or on the dance floor.
Padawan: Dancing? No. Freaking. Way. That’s a terrible idea.
I roll my eyes.
Me: Trust me, a hot girl dancing is always a good idea.
Padawan: How do you know I’m hot? Maybe I’m a hideous troll with bad rhythm and funky breath.
Anything is possible, but if I’ve learned anything from the women in my life, it’s this: The sexiest thing a woman can be is confident.
Me: Girls who quote Star Wars are always hot. That’s why it’s what’s on the inside that counts. *winking emoji*
There’s a long pause. No dots. Nothing to show she’s replying, but I know she read my message. It says so right on the screen.
Me: Trust me. Pop a breath mint and go shake that Star Wars loving ass.
Padawan: I don’t know...
Me: Relax. It’ll be fine.
Padawan: Tell that to my third-grade dance instructor. During our spring recital, my tap shoe flew off and clocked her in the face. She had a black eye for a week.
A laugh escapes before I can stop it. I mean, come on, that shit’s funny.
Next to me, Reid stirs, but doesn’t open his eyes.
Me: You know what? Forget everything I said about dancing and go hang out at the bar.
Padawan: That’s it? That’s the best advice you have for meeting a guy?
Me: Second bit of advice. You won’t meet anyone if you sit around texting all night.
I brace myself, prepared for a snarky reply, but it never comes.
Padawan: What the hell. Might as well give it a try.
I hastily pull up a Yoda GIF and hit send.
Me: Do or do not. There is no try.
Padawan: *facepalm emoji*
Padawan: I set you up perfectly.
“Yeah you did.” Another laugh pushes up from my gut as I slide the phone back into my pocket.
“The fuck are you doing up there?” Parker asks, leaning over the back of my seat so his shit-eating grin is right in my face.
“Don’t you worry your pretty little face about it.”
Parker rolls his eyes, which is freaky as hell, since his head is upside down. “You wanna hit The Den tonight?”
“Is that even a question?” I smirk up at him, because it’s no secret I’m always down to party.
