“Gimme a break,” she snarks. “I’ve never even given youthatmuch credit. You strike me as a guy who brings a girl to his restaurant and cooks while you drone on and on about your own genius and how you’re so creative. It’s all blah blah broody ... blah blah misunderstood ... blah blah rich. Then she has sex with you.”
I’ll never admit that I’ve actually done that and had that exact result. Jesus, she could start her own psychic network with skills like that.
“Oh yeah?” I level, already feeling how weak my comeback is about to be. “Well, if you’re so good at planning first dates, then brag about what you do.”
She laughs, but only once. It’s more like a nonarticulatedMoron. And that’s fair. I am.
“I would never plan my own first date. This is why you’re single and girls don’t like you.”
No, I’m single because I’m holding out for a hottie who’s turned me into a kink-freak for degradation.Keep saying mean shit, because at least you’re talking to me.
Dammit, there’s no time to play these games. I need her to commit.
I throw out some reverse psychology seasoned with a smidge of sad-sack, crossing my fingers it works.
“Whatever, fine. Don’t come. I was asking a friend, but I get it ... I’m not that to you. It’s cool.”
I walk past her toward my room, reaching for my door handle before I hear her take a deep breath, so I freeze.
“I’ll help. But this is not a date,” she says resolutely.
“Yeah, duh. Never was,” I lie, staring at the door.
I mean, I guess it’s not a total lie. This isn’t a date until she suddenly likes spending time with me; then I’m happy to revisit the definition. It’s more like a flexible hangout.
Just get to know me already, soulmate.
“Okay. We rally in ten.”
I smile down at my hand, opening my bedroom door. “Roger that.”
The moment I’m inside my room, I book it to the shower, uncaring if the water is hot or cold so I can get my ass back out and in the car with her.
By the time I’m done and pulling on my jeans, it’s been nine minutes, twenty-seven seconds. There’s still time for my socks and shoes.
I hear her in the hallway, so I move quicker, hopping around to get my sneakers on before I take one look in the mirror.
Game time.I walk out nonchalant as hell.
“Hey,” I greet, walking into the kitchen to swipe my wallet off the counter, along with my keys.
“I’m driving,” she says, drawing my attention, but when our eyes lock, she adds, “because this is not a date.”
I act as if I don’t care, extending a hand and motioning for her to lead the way. Truthfully, I like the view from back here anyway.
She walks past the couch, and I follow before I lock the front door behind me. But the moment we get to the driveway, she stops in front of our cars, looking between them.
“Are we admiring our cars?” I joke, but she crosses her arms.
“Have you always had this car?”
I shake my head. “No, bought it here in LA.”
“I rented mine.”
Look who gets to drive after all ... I almost chuckle because same, Evie. I got a chubby when I saw my baby too.
I don’t even try and hide how full of shit I am. “A Kia Soul’s a good car.”
