Would probably work on most guys. But not Freddie, because he is already in love with someone else and I know that, because the second Alex walks by, he immediately turns away from Brianna and pulls her into him.
His hand rests on her lower back. Protective. Casual, but not really. And Alex just melts into him. Like it’s second nature. He doesn’t even have to think about it.
I don’t know why that makes something twist in my chest.
I make my way toward Brianna, sliding in next to her at the bar.
“You look like you need a rebound,” I say smoothly.
She turns, already smiling. “Hawkins. Took you long enough.”
I lean against the bar, flashing my best grin. “Figured I’d give you time to recover after that devastating rejection.”
“Please.” She scoffs, rolling her eyes but not moving away. “Freddie will regret it, eventually.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Obviously.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Love the confidence, darling.”
She leans in a little. “You love the attention.”
And yeah, this is fun.
I’d never actually sleep with Brianna—Freddie’s old flings are off-limits. But flirting with her is fair game. Flirting is easy and fun.
“Actually,” I say, lowering my voice slightly, “you can help me with something.”
She raises a brow. “Now we’re talking. What do you need?” She’s giving me fuck me eyes.
“Is Delilah here?”
Slowly, a smirk spreads across her face.
“Delilah Greer?” she asks, voice dripping with curiosity.
“Yeah.” I keep my tone bored, casual. “Need to figure out some project details.”
She doesn’t believe me. I can tell by the way she tilts her head, watching me like she’s figuring out a puzzle.
“Nope, she didn’t wanna come…but I can give you her number?”
Delilah still hasn’t texted me and I’ve just been showing up at her place at 8 AM all week to drop her in. I hate how much it bothers me that I don’t have her number.
But after a beat, she pulls out her phone.
“Sure. Okay.”
She types something quickly, then slides her phone across the bar for me to copy.
“Thanks,” I mutter, walking away.
I stare at Delilah’s number in my phone for a solid five minutes. I could wait and text her tomorrow, actually about the project.
Instead, I type out:
What’re you up to, Mittens?
