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My belly flutters with how intently he’s watching me. “I figured you wouldn’t mind.”

“You figured?”

“I’m pretty good at reading people.” I shrug.

“I see. And what ‘ology taught you that? You said you studied them all.”

“That I did.” My smile grows at the fact that he was listening to me ramble last night; I’ve gotten so used to Zander ignoring me that I forgot what it’s like to have a person pay attention. “The ‘ology of life taught me that. Some things you don’t learn in school.”

“Couldn’t agree more.” Shane takes a sip, watching me as water beads on the glass, trickling between his fingers. “You always up that early in the morning?”

“Yes, and I hate it. It’s impossible for me to sleep in, even with this monster of a headache.”

“I think they call it a hangover.” He chuckles when I rub my temples. “You partied pretty hard last night. I went to grab sheets for the couch, and you’d face-planted on it by the time I got back.”

“Please tell me I didn’t do anything too embarrassing.” My nose scrunches.

“Nah, you were fine. Cute even.” He smirks, and my stomach does a little somersault. “I tried to convince you to move to the bed, but you weren’t having it. You were too busy arguing in your half-asleep state about how fitted sheets are ridiculous. It was a passionate stance for someone who had downed a bottle of whiskey.”

“I maintain that stance. Who came up with fitted sheets? They wrap around everything in the washing machine, and they’re impossible to fold. I doubt anyone can do it.”

“I’m sure someone can.”

“Well, if they can, then they’ve achieved the impossible.”

“I’m sensing some deep-seated resentment toward bedding.”

“Not bedding, per se. Just things that annoy me.” I shrug, leaning on the bar. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those unicorns who can fold fitted sheets, and I’ve offended you with my utter incompetence.”

Shane chuckles. “Nope, still haven’t mastered that particular skill set.”

“But you’ve mastered something?” I guess, my eyes narrowing. “What odd talents do you have, Shane Donovan?”

“I’m obnoxiously good at picking things up with my feet.”

“I don’t know what’s weirder… your answer, or how fast you came up with it.”

“Long toes,” Shane says like it’s not strange at all, making me laugh.

“Well, keep those toes away from me.”

“Not into feet?” He chuckles, and I wrinkle my nose.

“No. Definitely not into feet.”

“Noted.” He drags his finger through his thick black hair, and I shift back. “What about you? Any fun tricks up your sleeve, cowgirl? Besides grand theft auto.”

I bite back a smile. “Twirling pens. It was basically an Olympic sport for me when I got bored in class. And I always got bored in class.”

“Hence all the different majors in college.”

“Exactly.” I smile. “But my more practical talent would probably be tying knots. Dad taught me everything from a bowline knot to a cow hitch. I would practice with my brothers’ backpack straps and shoestrings just to annoy them.”

“Your brothers must have loved that.”

“Oh, they did.” I smile.

Shane taps his fingers on his glass. “So let me get this straight. You can hot-wire a truck without blinking, tie every knot known to humankind, and twirl pens like it’s an Olympic sport. Half those qualities make for one terrifying serial killer.”