Maya folds her arms over her ample chest, careful not to spill the coffee she’s been carrying around. “I haven’t heard from you in over a month.”
There’s no anger or annoyance in her tone; she says it like she’s stating the weather.
And that may hurt more than if she were upset.
Rubbing my fingertips against my forehead, I sigh. “I’m sorry I didn’t reach out or answer your text. I’ve never had to make time for someone else, and I got in my head about it. It’s a lame excuse, but it’s the truth.”
“While I appreciate the apology, it’s unnecessary,” she says, keeping her chin lifted. “You don’t owe me anything, considering we barely know each other.”
“I’dliketo know you,” I tease, flashing my most disarming grin. “That’s what dates are for, right?”
Her eyes narrow into a skeptical squint. “I’m not going on a date with you.”
My shoulders deflate. Dammit. I knew I’d messed up, but I didn’t think I’d get an outrightno. It throws me off just enough that instead of going with a smooth or persuasive line, I blurt, “Can we be friends?”
She shrugs as if she doesn’t care one way or the other. “Sure. If that’s what you want.”
“I want to take you on a date,” I correct, my brain functioning again. “But until you agree to go out with me, we can be friends.”
“All I’m offering is friendship,” she reiterates with a put-out sigh. “I can’t—I’m not looking for more.”
I nod, even though I’m full of it. “Friends it is.”
She juts out her hip. “Then why are you looking at me like that?”
My lips twitch. “Like what?”
“Like it’scutethat I want to be friends,” she huffs.
She looks like an adorable puppy trying to act like a wolverine, but I keep that observation to myself.
“Itiscute.” I smirk. “Because I assure you there’s nothingfriendlyabout the things I want to do to you.”
An honest-to-God gasp flies from her lips. “You can’t say shit like that.”
I nod at a display covered in books featuring half-naked men with glistening abs, fangs, and wings. If they can show off all ofthat, then I’m in the clear. And considering Maya’s nipples are taut beneath her sweater, I’m pretty sure her complaint is all bluster.
“Friends,” she repeats, as if trying to hammer the word into my skull. “That’s what I’m offering. So none of thatbabenonsense.”
“Friends have nicknames,” I point out. I’ve never called a friend babe before, but I’ve also never wanted to kiss a friend this badly.
She shifts, one hip popped out, her attitude on full display. “But babe isn’t a nickname. It’s a pet name.”
I flash an innocent smile. “What can I call you, then?”
She takes a small sip of her coffee. “This is a weird concept, but youcouldcall me by my name.”
I wave off that simple suggestion. “How about bookie?”
“Bookie?” she asks, her lip curled up on one side. “What am I? A back-alley gambler collecting debts?”
Biting back a laugh, I rub my chin. “Hmm. Paperback princess?”
“Pass. That sounds like a literary porn star, which I don’t think is a thing.”
“Worm?”
“Worm?” She reels back a step, nearly spilling her coffee. With a gasp, she yanks her cup away from any books in the potential splash zone. “What did I ever do to you? Why would you want to call meworm? That’s so?—”
