Um…we are not sleeping with him.
I sat back up and slapped on my best customer-service persona, the one that dealt with crazy brides who were on week five of a sixty-day lemon water, kale, and stress diet.
“That’s me.” I gave a little wave.
Chris slid into the seat in front of me. His sweater was green and yellow and had llamas on it.
“I forgot my wallet,” he said. “So do you mind buying a drink for me?”
Fuck-solutely-not.
But then Chris took off his sunglasses and grinned at me. It was this lazy, sexy smile, complete with deep-blue eyes.
“Please?” He shifted in his seat. There was muscle under that gawd-awful sweater.
Okay, so he’s not the love of your life,I reasoned with myself.Sleep with him, climb back on the dating horse, then move on. One drink is cheaper than an escort.
“Sure!” I chirped, still channeling my inner wedding photographer. “Have whatever you’d like!”
“Really?” His eyes widened, and his smile grew bigger. He had a dimple in his left cheek. I did have a thing for dimples.
Chris rolled up a sleeve and reached for a menu. The tendons and muscle on his forearm rippled enticingly.
Yes, it had been a long time.
Ivy put condoms in your purse.
“No problem.” I leaned forward, hoping I seemed flirty and not creepy. “You can make it up to me later.”
His blue eyes flicked from mine to my mouth.
We’re getting laid tonight!my inner sex goddess cheered.
I admired his strong jaw as he ordered two fingers of extremely expensive scotch.
The cheering of my inner sex goddess faded out as I mentally calculated whether or not my almost-maxed-out credit card would be able to handle that drink order.
“Is that okay?” Chris asked me, resting his chin on his hand. He posed like a model. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
The cheering was back.
“Sure,” I croaked out. I took a gulp of my drink and ended up dribbling some of it down my chin.
“So,” I said, wiping it away, “what do you do?”
“Oh.” Chris looked away. “Not much.”
“Like temp work?”
Chris shrugged. “I’m currently finding myself.”
Unemployed, possibly homeless.
We are lowering our standards…
The server brought Chris’s drink. He regarded it, his profile worthy of a luxury brand ad—straight nose, those cheekbones with his eyelashes slightly brushing them.
“You do wedding photography?” Chris asked.
