Page 22 of Off the Grid

“Such as?”

“A precariously and embarrassingly placed tattoo.”

“How precarious and how embarrassing?”

He snorts. “We’ll just say I would prefer to maintain my dignity.”

“I can’t help you then.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep. I need the details,” I tease.

He huffs out a breath and shakes his head. “Tinkerbell on my bicep.”

“Wow. I see.” I fight a laugh and fail. “And you took that bet, why?”

“Because I hate to lose.” He shrugs. “I don’t lose.”

“There’s a first time for everything.” I snicker.

The server steps up and replaces my empty glass with a fresh one. “On the house for the wait,” she says.

“That’s not necessary,” I say.

“I insist, love. You’ve been more than patient.”

“Thank you.”

“May I get another when you get a chance?” Bar Boy asks. And as he busies himself placing his order, I look at my phone buzzing in my hand. Of course, Isabella is texting me: You better act on whatever you have going there or else we’re going to come over and tell him just how long it’s been since you’ve had decent sex and proposition him for you ourselves.

I whip my gaze up and meet her and Gia’s challenging lift of their eyebrows and arms crossed over their chests. Dare us is written all over their faces, and I don’t have to question whether they would do it or not.

They have in the past, and we don’t need a repeat of that. Visions of standing on a bar top, a megaphone, and a row of shots flicker through my mind before I tuck them away.

But it’s enough of a reminder to know that she’s good on her threat.

“Are you getting texts too?” he asks as he looks up from his phone in his hand and its screen that keeps lighting up.

I chuckle. “Yep.” I hold my phone out long enough for him to see the text screen but not for him to be able to read it. “They’re threatening to come over here and proposition you themselves on my behalf.”

He laughs. “Mine are telling me that I’m all talk and no action. That there’s no way in hell I’m going to get your phone number. That my time’s up and so I need something more than that.”

“More than my number, huh?”

“Yep. It’s either that or my date with the tattoo needle is coming.” He laughs.

“What if you get more than that?” I ask, my mind spinning over how to sell this to both of our friends.

“I’m curious what you have in mind.”

“Well, there is a way that you can help get my friends off my back, and I can help you win your little bet.”

My idea is to fake it. Swap our numbers. Set up a date over text that we’ll never take, but that we can both show our friends as proof. Flirt a little bit more so there is no mistaking we like each other.

Kill two birds with one stone.

But when I look up and see Gia rising from our table so she can get a better view of the two of us, I get the feeling that a fake arrangement to meet up isn’t going to fly.