“How so?” I ask while leaning in closer to her. From my position, I catch a whiff of her heady, exotic perfume, and it hits me in my goddamn chest.
She glances away, and I can tell whatever she’s going to say won’t be the truth. And I want the truth from her. It’s rare when I talk to her like this, so I don’t want anything to hold her back.
I lift my hand, and with two fingers, I rotate her head so she’s looking at me. “Tell me the truth. Why is interacting with me different?”
She visibly gulps as her eyes search mine, bouncing back and forth until she says, “Because you’re, uh . . . because well . . .” She swallows again. “You’re attractive.”
Bingo.
Just the thing I wanted to hear.
Never hurts a man’s ego to hear the woman he’s been lusting after for two years thinks he’s attractive. Nope, I’m going to keep that little nugget of info very close to my dick.
“Well, not that the other guys aren’t attractive, because they are, but you’re just different, and I don’t know why I admitted that. I’ve only had two drinks. It’s not like I’m drunk or anything, so my lips shouldn’t be that loose. Honestly, how about we forget I even said that?”
“No fucking way.” I let my hand slide back down, only to settle close to hers on the table. “I’m tucking that snippet of knowledge away forever.”
She sighs heavily. “Why do you have to rub it in like that? Clearly, it’s embarrassing for me to talk about—”
“Rub it in? I’m not rubbing it in. I’m basking in the glory of Penny Lawes thinking I’m attractive.”
“Why on earth would you do that?” she asks with a pinch of her brow.
“Uhh . . . because you’re a fucking goddess and being recognized by you feels really fucking amazing,” I say before I can stop myself.
Her mouth falls open, shock written all over her expression.
“But we don’t have to talk about that,” I say quickly, not wanting to scare her away. Dropping that hint is important, though. I want her to know that I’d worship her if she let me, but I don’t want to make it awkward either. “Tell me something I don’t know about you.”
She blinks a few times, and then she sits back on her stool while crossing her arms over her chest. Inquisitively, she glances around the busy bar with bustling singles just looking to hook up with someone tonight. Finally, she quietly leans in and whispers, “Is this some sort of prank show that I’m on, and I don’t know about it?”
“What?” I ask, confused.
She motions between us. “This . . . this can’t possibly be a real thing, so do you have me on a prank show? Oh God, is this for the team? Are there cameras?” She looks around again, lifting out of her chair to get a better look.
I settle my hand on her shoulder and push her back on her seat. Looking her in the eyes, I say, “There is no prank show, Penny. I wouldn’t do that to you.”
She studies me again, her expression a mixture of humor and confusion. I’m not quite sure if she’s about to lay down an onslaught of questions or burst out in laughter.
She chooses the latter.
It starts slow. A chuckle. A small ha . . . until it turns into a full-on guffaw followed by a litany of outlandish laughter so obnoxiously loud that people around us start to glance our way.
The laughter takes over every last inch of her body, shaking her from head to toe to the point of actual tears. Freaking tears. With a napkin, she blots at her eyes, pauses . . . glances at me, and starts laughing all over again.
Annoyed, I take a long, hard gulp of my drink until nothing is left while she continues gripping her stomach and gasping for air. I see a server crossing by us and wave him down for another round for the both of us while Penny attempts to gather herself.
Attempts being the key word.
After another minute, I ask her, “You done?”
She takes a few breaths, lets out a few more chuckles, and then sips her drink through her straw just as the server brings us a new round. He takes our empty glasses and then disappears.
After a few more seconds, she dabs at her eyes one more time and nods. “I’m done.” She smirks.
I wait to see if she breaks out in laughter again, but when she keeps it together, I say, “Then would you mind telling me why what I said was so funny to you?”
“Because it’s unbelievable,” she answers. Straw pinched between her fingers, she sips from her new glass now. “Ask everyone in this bar if what you said is believable, and one hundred percent they would say no.”
