Well... this is goinggreat.
Colt approaches right on the fifteen-second-warning gong, his face unreadable but eyes hinting he’s been waiting to come back to me all evening. I’ve been waiting for him too, it feels like for way longer than just this evening, considering my body warms itself from the inside out at the sight of him.
“You need a beer, man,” he tells number ten, pointing at his empty glass.
“Grab one with me. It’s been a while. This...” He motions his chin at me, “...is a waste of time.”
“Up and away, Finn,” Colt clips, severity settling over his features. “Don’t make me say it twice.”
“Seriously, man, she’s—” He cuts himself off, either noticing how Colt’s big hands ball into fists or maybe deciding Colt should find out from me why this is a waste of time.
He won’t.
However well Colt fits the description I gave my mother, I won’t ask him to spend a week with my family. He’s clearly rich, so fifteen grand won’t pique his interest. And... a small part of me hopes that when I come back from cruising the Caribbean, we’ll grab dinner like normal people.
“What happened here?” he asks, taking a seat. “You hurt his ego? I’ve never seen Finn ignore a woman the way he just ignored you.”
“I guess I’m not his type.”
“He doesn’t have a type.” Colt smiles over the rim of his crystal glass. “Four glasses of wine seem to be your limit.”
“My limit? I’m not drunk.”
“No, but your—very convincing when you’re sober—Californian accent slips the more you drink.” He grabs the bottle to refill my glass. “One more, and I’m sure I’ll figure out which part of England you’re from.”
“I don’t mind telling. Outer West London,” I mutter, failing to roll myrs and make mytssound likeds.
“So? Ready to tell me what you’re looking for?”
A boyfriend.
“I spoke to Grant today,” my mother chirps, staring at me from my phone’s small screen. “He’s thinking about taking the summer off...” She inserts a meaningful pause to let me make peace with what she’s only implied thus far. “You shouldn’t show up alone, Audrey, and Grant’s happy to—”
“I won’t be alone,” I blurt out before she shoves Grant Whitaker down my throat again. “I... I met someone.”
My mother’s eyes narrow, her lips in a line, holding off a scowl. It’s not working, but at least she’s trying. “Well, that’s news I didn’t expect. Tell me about him.”
My palms start sweating, and my heart threatens to break my ribs as the realization dawns. I just dug my own grave.
“Oh, um... well, you know my type. Tall, dark haired, handsome.”
And now I dug it even deeper. I don’t know any men who fit that description. My university friends are seventy percent women, ten percent gay, and twenty percent scrawny guys.
Save for the dark hair, I basically described Grant.
Mom raises a questioning brow. “I truly hope I raised you better than to care solely about looks, young lady.”
Better to care solely about looks than the size of a man’s wallet like my mother does.
“He’s not just looks, Mom.”
“Well...? Tell me more. What does he do? Please don’t say he’s a fellow student. You need stability, Audrey. Lawyer? Banker?”
“He’s not a student,” I mumble, taking a long sip of coffee. The more details I give, the harder it will be to find a guy who fits the description.
Urgh, who am I kidding? At this point, my only two options are faking a rare, highly contagious, life-threatening disease or arriving alone, hopefully too late for my mother to summon Grant.
Though I doubt he’d pass the opportunity to brownnose my father. He’d probably buy a helicopter and land on the yacht’s helipad, making an entrance worthy of his big head.
