“More often than I expect, but then, I don’t expect to get recognized at all.” She sucks in a big breath and pauses at the entrance to the parking garage that I suspect neither of us is heading into. “IfI agree to be your date forone public event, with the wordpublicto be defined more clearly before I fully agree, I want you to know that I’m doing it for my own personal reasons that have nothing to do with you.”
Yes. She totally wants to get with the Fletch-meister. “Fair enough.”
“I assume you have other reasons you’d ask me specifically.”
“Mostly because you’re hot.” It’s true enough. And it’s an easy way to tell her I’m up for that no-strings fling anytime she says go.
She rolls her eyes again.
“You don’t think you’re hot?” I ask.
“I wouldn’t get recognized in public and have as big of a social media following as I do if I didn’t fit the description ofclassically attractive.”
“That was a lot of words to sayyes, I know I’m hot.”
“If you wantedanyhot woman on your arm, you could basically walk out your door, cover up your mustache, and shake your ass a little, and you’d have more options.”
“The ’stache is my brand.”
“Maybe you need a brand makeover.”
It’s a good thing I have a lot of experience being the one to walk away from arguments. “I also think it adds a dimension to my visibility if I take out the woman I passed out on after giving blood instead of a random woman who wants to get pounded by my ass.”
“If you shaved, I think Greta would be interested. And dating a woman old enough to be your grandma is also very newsworthy.”
“Studly Rugby Player Falls in Love with Grandma Who Tried to Save Him from His Own Facial Hair.”
She laughs.
She actually laughs.
And then she seems to realize she’s laughing at me, stops herself, and goes full-on straight-faced again.
Something in my chest hiccups.
Something in my pants moves in a much bigger way.
“You might be an ass in a lot of ways, but it’s lovely that you have a nice sense of humor about the part of your face that I will actively be ignoring if you propose a date that I agree to.”
She knows her worth. I like that. “I’ll find a date you’ll agree to.”
“Best of luck to you.” She holds out a hand to shake on it.
Fine by me.
My hand swallows hers. Her skin is every bit as soft as I’d hoped—expectedit to be, her grip warm and firm without starting a handshake battle that would probably prove shecanbe her own bouncer.
Yeah, I’d definitely fling with her.
“So…your number?” I say, turning up the rizz as high as it can go.
“I don’t believe you need my number to get in touch.” She extracts her hand from mine and steps back. “Thank you again for the groceries. Have a lovely evening.”
Watching her walk away is a good start to the evening.
But the better part?
She’s given me a challenge.
