My first instinct is to smack him in the face. My second instinct is to smack him harder.
I’m so not in the mood for an awkward bar hangout with a stranger frenemy treating me like a piece of meat.
But he’s cute. I’ll give him that.
And I don’t know how truly bad he is inside.
I also don’t know what’s waiting for me at home besides another lonely evening where the highlight is ordering three days’ worth of Thai takeout to eat my feelings. Granny Lark, the old lady up the street, isn’t around to bother me this week because she’s hanging out with her granddaughter.
Would it really be so atrocious to just humor him? To get this persistent, grandstanding gold monkey off my back?
“You know what? Fine. You win.” My teeth clench with regret.
“You’re serious?” His eyebrows shoot up. “Damn, I thought I’d have to bribe you or something.”
“You do. When you buy me a cocktail, it better have the top-shelf stuff.”
“Noted.” His eyes flash like the winter sky.
“Also, I looked you up after our last—”Meetingisn’t the right word. More likedisaster. “Our last interaction. Your channel’s kinda fun, and I appreciate you trying to rake in money for animals.”
“All the time,” he tells me, a whisper of a smile pulling at his lips. Not the spotlight charm he switches on when he wants something. This looks more real. “So you’re a new fan, huh?”
“Hardly. Wasting hours on YouTube isn’t my thing,” I say quickly, shifting my bag on my shoulder. “But I’m glad you give a damn sometimes. You only use your channel to puff yourself up about fifty percent of the time.”
“Flattering. I’ll work on raising that up to an even seventy.”
I glare at him, second-guessing my state of mind.
It’s a terrible idea to get involved with him at all, I’m sure. Tomorrow Lena is already side-eyeing me hard, demanding to know what the hell I’m thinking for evenconsideringthis.
But an evening out still feels better than moping over my nightmare ex and a business deal I can’t control. I’m due for a distraction, and a free drink or two feels like the ticket.
Even so, there’s no way I’m going out dressed like this and covered in dog hair.
“Two hours,” I say. “We’ll meet at Benny’s. I’ll Uber.”
Benny’s is a local wine and espresso bar, which gives me the option of keeping it cool and getting a small coffee flight or yielding to temptation with alcohol.
I know which way I’m leaning, but I’d be stupid to let my guard down around him too soon.
He doesn’t smile, but there’s a smug, delighted glint in his eyes as he says, “Wish granted, Lena. See you soon.”
This isnota date.
It’s so not a date that I settle for a casual dress, nothing showy. Blue, summery, soft, and warm—something that screams modest comfort and notI’m going home with you later.
Because that’s not happening with half a dozen drinks. Not even ten, and I’m a lightweight who can’t pound it back like I used to.
The only reason I agreed to see Brady Pruitt isnothis smoking hot body or the way his eyes felt magnetic when he asked me out.
Nothing to do with his mile-wide shoulders or the softness of his thick, dark hair or the scruff of shadow around his lips that could melt any red-blooded woman with a single scrape.
Still, I hate that I even had to think about what to wear to my next mistake.
When I get there, he’s on time, seated and waiting at the bar with one hand raised as soon as he sees me.
The place is crowded. More than usual for a breezy Wednesday evening, but then again, I don’t usually go out midweek. Not since Elle married herself off to a god and my other friends fell into careers where they live at the office.
