Some might call him a bastard for pushing her buttons. Didn’t mean he was going to stop.
“Ms. Johnson, please show the class what you’re hiding.” He reached to open the screen.
She smacked at his hand. “It’s a spreadsheet, you oaf. Nothing special.”
“A spreadsheet, huh? I don’t believe you.” He leaned over her to get to the computer.
Her hair smelled like strawberries again. He had always liked strawberries, but they’d never given him a hard-on before.
“Shouldn’t you go shower or something?” She turned her head, and her lips were barely a centimeter from his. Her eyes went wide. Her throat bobbed.
His lips twitched. The attraction wasn’t as one-sided as he’d believed.
Without hesitation, he moved closer, brushing his lips in the air over the apple of her cheek. They didn’t make contact. Still, though, a little moan escaped her throat that practically broadcastkiss me.
His mouth reached her ear. “What’s on the spreadsheet, V?”
She pulled her head away, breaking the intimate moment. “Are you always like this?”
“Yes.” He straightened and jerked his head toward her computer. “Spill.”
A sound escaped her throat that was a cross between “urg” and “gah.” She opened her laptop. “It’s a dating spreadsheet. See?” She pointed to the screen. “Nothing special.”
There were a lot of rows with male names. And by a lot, he meanta lotof them. That shouldn’t have stung the way it did, but…there it was.
He squinted at the screen. “Velma, the serial dater.”
“I’m trying to find the right guy. Unfortunately, it appears my Prince Charming’s riding a snail instead of a steed, because he’s taking his time.”
Each column had a numbered rating and a final score at the end. With an elaborate color-coding system. He couldn’t quite pull his gaze away from the insanity on her screen. “You keep a log of all your dates?”
“Well…yeah. I don’t want to make the same mistake twice. So, I write everything down and add up the pros and cons.”
Her system was crazier than his mother’s matchmaking business. And he’d always thought her business was whack. “I thought my mother was the queen of the dating scene.” He narrowed his eyes in on the first few columns of the spreadsheet. “But I’ve never heard of her ranking guys on the diversity of their retirement portfolios.”
“Life insurance isn’t a joke. Actually, you and I should talk about your coverage.” She gave him a look that, in those glasses, made him actually look forward to a conversation about death.
He shook off her suggestion. No way was he talking about retirement bullshit.
“Conversation ability and height?” He continued through the columns. Those were just the first three. There were many more.
“That’s a personal preference. Personality is weighted heavier. See, look.” She tapped through some screens, her finger clicking the mouse. “Everything gets a rating, and then they feed into the algorithm for a ranking between one and ten. Anything over an eight gets a second date.”
Brek let out a whistle. “Tonight’s guy is at a three. Poor dude.”
Velma studied the monitor. “The formula I created does all the heavy lifting.”
She deserved an A for effort, he gave her that.
“What were tonight’s cons?” He pulled a chair up next to hers. She had special padded cushions for her chairs that matched the curtains. A lot of work, he figured, but what the hell? They were comfortable.
“Well, he still lives with his parents. That’s a big red flag.” She tapped on the keyboard to fill out a few more of the columns with number ratings. “He kept checking Facebook and asked if he could post my picture so his friends would believe I went out with him.”
“Definite minus. He pay for dinner?”
“No. I did.”
“Add a column for that and give him a zero. Guy’s a prick, he doesn’t pay for dinner.” Brek pointed to an empty cell.
