He chuckles. “Nah, nah. I just figured I missed the contest.”
I squint. “Contest?”
“The beauty contest.” He shrugs. “Or do I just get to meet the winner?”
I blink. Then snort. “Wow. Do lines like that actually work?”
“They do when they’re true. You look great when your face is ketchup-less.”
Okay, now he’s smiling for real. Not the cocky smirk from earlier. The kind that makes my stomach flutter like I swallowed bees.
“I’m just here for the Dust Devils,” I say, attempting cool. “The hot dogsweredelicious, though.”
“What’s your favorite song?”
“‘Midnight Whiskey.’”
He winces like I slapped him. “Noooo. That’s the worst one.”
My jaw drops. “Excuse me?”
“It’s their most overplayed song. That and ‘Boots by the Bed.’”
I fold my arms. “Both bangers. You clearly have no taste.”
“I have excellent taste.” His eyes drag down my body—slow, appreciative, and infuriatingly confident. “Case in point.”
My cheeks burn.
“Don’t do that,” I mutter.
“Do what?”
“Flirt like that. Like it’s your job.”
He leans in just a little, voice low. “You think I flirt like this with everyone?”
I stare at him. Hard.
Because my body? My body is starting to agree with him. The stranger’s words linger in my ear. My body wants to lean closer, grab his shirt, and find out what his mouth tastes like under a starry sky.
But my brain—bless her—is still holding the line.
“Look,” I say, stepping back. “I’m flattered. But I’m not…I’m not in the market for men right now. It’s not you. It’s me. I’m just on a break.”
His smile doesn’t falter. “A break. From men.”
“Right.”
“Well, that doesn’t mean you can’ttalkto one. No harm in that.”
I open my mouth, then close it. My gut does a somersault.
“I’m just trying to keep things…clean,” I say, immediately regretting the word choice.
His eyebrow twitches. “Clean, huh?”
“I mean—” I wave my beer around like that’ll help. “Emotionally. Like, boundaries and stuff.”
