“Sorry,” she says. “I’m just not used to guys using pickup lines on me.”
“You think that was a pickup line?” I ask as she wipes down the bar top with a napkin.
“Oh, I know it was. That’s how flirting works. Men make catchy compliments, women feel good about themselves, and it goes back and forth until one of them asks the other for a phone number or a nightcap,” she rattles off with the verbal efficiency of a typewriter.
“Damn.” I let out a low whistle. “I didn’t know there was a formula to flirting. Here I’ve been free-wheeling it all this time.”
“There’s a formula to everything,” she smiles, crossing her legs.
This girl is something else. I don’t know if I’ve ever met anyone like her. Shallow, ditzy girls are a dime a dozen, but this girl is obviously neither of those things.
“I see. And what happens when someone strays from the formula?” I ask.
“I don’t know. I guess they part ways and never see each other again,” she says, taking another sip.
“Shit. Well, that would be unfortunate. I guess we'd better stick to the formula then. I love your dress, by the way,” I say.
“You do?” she asks, looking down at it.
“Sure,” I shrug with a smirk and her eyes narrow on me, though she’s smiling.
“You’re lying,” she says.
“Maybe. But I’m still following the rules, right?” I ask, and she laughs.
For the first time, I feel like the smile is real, not forced or nervous. “You have a great laugh.”
“Wow,” she shakes her head. “You’re good.”
“No, I really meant that. Look.” I pull up the sleeve of my Henley shirt to just below my elbow. “You gave me goosebumps.”
“From my laugh?” She smiles, touching her lips with her fingers.
“Yep,” I smile back.
Then her eyes dart back down to my arm. “I like your tattoo,” she says, studying the heart with two swords piercing it.
“Thanks. I’ve had it for about twenty years,” I say. “Look at us. I think we’re doing great at this formulated banter thing. Let me ask you something. Do you always approach conversations this calculatedly?”
“Oh, I approach everything this calculatedly. It’s convenient, although it’s not exactly sexy,” she says, sipping her beer.
“I think it’s only fair if I get to be the judge of that, don’t you?”
“I suppose that would be following the rules,” she agrees and I grin.
“It’s Gavin, by the way,” I say, holding up my glass.
“Charlotte,” she says, holding her beer up too. “But I already told you that.”
“Yes, you did,” I say, clinking my glass to hers.
“I think it’s good to be upfront about things,” she says, taking another sip. “Especially intentions.”
“Well, then I’ll be real with you. I find you very interesting, Charlotte.”
“Just interesting?” she asks, blinking her long eyelashes several times.
“Would you rather I’d use a different word?” I ask.
