“That’ll be six bucks.”
I set a one-hundred-dollar bill on the bar. “Keep the change.”
Her gaze flicks to the bill, then back to me. “I’m not a charity.”
“I know,” I nod. “It’s a tip. I liked the service.”
She studies me like she’s deciding whether to argue, then pockets the money.
“Don’t make it weird,” she says.
“Define weird.”
She arches a brow. “You’re already flirting with it.”
I grin. “Dangerously close.”
She turns to grab another order. I notice the way she keeps her back angled toward the wall. The way she plants her feet when she stops. The way she never fully relaxes, even when she laughs.
Maybe I shouldn’t notice those things, but I do anyway.
When she comes back, she leans an elbow on the bar, seemingly guarded, but curious.
“So, what brings you back, really? I know it’s not the beer because a guy like you can afford the swankiest of places and this…” she gestures around the dive-bar environment we’re sitting in, “ain’t it.”
I meet her eyes. “You.”
She doesn’t blink. “Wrong answer.”
I tilt my head. “Okay. The fries.”
“Better.”
“And…you,” I add with a wink.
She rolls her eyes and exhales an exasperated huff. “Okay let’s just get this over with. What is it about me that has you so intrigued? Is it my tits or my ass because, spoiler alert, neither one of them is up for grabs tonight, tomorrow, or even the next day.”
They’re both nice, but hell if I’m going to admit that to you.
I drum my fingers against my glass. “I wanted to see if you were always like this.”
“Like what?”
“Terrifying.”
Her jaw drops. “Terrifying?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “Terrifying in the best way, of course,” I add. “You’re kind of like watching a thunderstorm from a safe distance.”
She levels me with a pointed stare, clearly trying to decide if I’m complimenting her or mocking her.
“That’s a new one,” she says finally. “Usually guys go with ‘feisty’ or ‘spirited’ when they’re trying to make being difficult sound like a compliment.”
I take a sip of my beer. “I’m not trying to make it sound like anything. Just an observation.”
“Well, observe this,” she leans forward slightly, her voice lowered, “I’m not interested in being some athlete’s charity project or conquest—no matter how much you tip.”
Ouch.
