“You’re amazing.” I took a bite, moaning. “Never let me insult you again.”
“I like hungover Callie. She’s full of compliments and is nice to me.” He leaned his shoulder into mine. We did that a lot. Touch. I was getting used to it.
“I’m weak. Not myself.” I hid my face behind the takeout cup, knowing I was close to cracking. I’d lasted barely three weeks, fighting it. “Did you have to go far for these? I haven’t been able to find a decent coffee shop near our place.”
“Eh, a block or two. I was wide awake earlier. I drank one too many last night and I burned through it around five.”
“I bet with your body you don’t get hungover.”
“Not really. I get groggy and that’s about it.”
“Lucky. I can’t say I’m surprised, though. You’re solid muscle. With that body, you need a lot of alcohol to mess with you.” I hoped he didn’t read into those words, but I blushed all the same. “You know, because you’re an athlete and shit.”
“Nice save.” The laugh lines appeared around his eyes again. “Don’t worry. I won’t assume your compliments are you hitting on me. You’ve made that pretty clear.”
I nodded instead of responding. He smirked and took a sip of his coffee. I remembered our conversation from Target. “You like the peppermint, too, right?”
“Yup. One of many things we have in common.” He noticed my Crocs. “Damn.”
“They look good, don’t they?” I stretched out my legs, unintentionally bringing attention to them. His eyes heated over and I brought my legs back to my chest. My stomach filled with butterflies and I didn’t like it one bit.
“Mm-hmm.”
I studied his profile. God, he was good-looking. He was kind, ambitious, and…hell. Maybe my weak state made me super complimentary. His deep voice broke me from the derailment of my sanity. “I meant to ask you something last night, but I forgot.”
“Go ahead.” I sat, curious. Our questions usually became a game of sorts, but I always had fun.
“The way you verbally laid a smack-down on Veronica—”
“I’m sorry about that, by the way. If she belonged to one of your gaggle, I don’t want to start any trouble. I hate when people talk about athletes or stars like they owe them something.”
“One of my gaggle. You say the weirdest things. But no, she is not one of the gaggle. I don’t have a gaggle.”
“You totally have a gaggle.”
“No, absolutely not.” He waved his hand with a dramatic flair that made me snort. He stared at me, his hazel eyes swirling with humor. “Now, before you rudely interrupted me.”
“I’m an ass. I know,” I interrupted him again. “My bad.”
“Should I raise my hand? Or should we have a talking stick?”
“I might have been a hell-raiser in high school. I talked too much and got into trouble,” I admitted without shame. “My teachers either hated or loved me. I spent some time in detention. Nothing like theBreakfast Club, though.”
“Well, there goes that fantasy of you I had built up. You dressed as Molly Ringwald.”
“I was more of the dorky chatterbox kid.”
He gave me a look of disbelief and ran his hand over his jaw. I watched the motion, transfixed by the strength in his arm.
“I happen to enjoy your chatter, even when you interrupt. But if you do it again, I’m going to shush you with the finger.”
“Oh, like when you put it on my mouth?”
“Yup. Now, shush.”
I nodded vigorously and groaned, grabbing my head. “Hammer. Damn it.”
“You drink water and take aspirin?” He set his coffee on the ground and walked toward me. Concern took over his face and it made him even more endearing. “Dehydration is the real reason for the pain, and well, you know, the alcohol, too. But the lack of water is the painful part.”
