"So you decided to get my attention and…what?" I asked. I still wasn't convinced she hadn't done it for a story. I had women approach me for a variety of reasons, not all of them nice. Some saw money, others saw fame. What was her angle?
She shrugged. "Maybe I just wanted to get you to ask me out, then turn the tables on you."
"You were going to laugh in my face?" I asked. "I can't say I wouldn't have deserved it, I suppose."
"You totally would," she agreed.
I washed the last of my pasta down with a gulp of beer and set the glass on the table.
"Is this where I suggest I try to make it up to you?" I asked. "To get you to like me again?"
She gave me a disbelieving look, eyebrows arched. "I doubt there's anything you could say or do to make that happen."
What can I say, I'm a competitive guy. I hate to lose and I like nothing more than a challenge. She was already proving to be just that.
I sat back and regarded her. "I'll tell you what. Give me…" I thought for a moment. "Give me three weeks. I'll show you how much I've changed, that I actually am a good guy. If you don't feel the same way about me that you did back in high school, I'll give you…"
"Every exclusive of the season?" she suggested.
A slow smile crept across my face. "That works." What was I really suggesting here? That I could make her fall for me in just three weeks? Considering the look on her face right then, I was all but prepared to lose. That didn't mean I wouldn't try though, and try hard. She was going to be worth it.
"What's in it for you?" she asked.
"I get to keep my ego intact," I replied. Sure, that was all. Nothing to do with mental bikini images. Nope, not at all.
I was down bad, and so fucked.
