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I blow out a breath. “There’s this guy I have a crush on. At work. But he looks at me like I could be his sister. I think I’m too brash. I don’t know how to get him to notice me. I was hoping maybe you could help me.”

Something passes over Colby’s usual jovial expression so quickly, a split second of what appeared to be malevolent anger. But he’d have no reason to be angry about this. I’m probably wrong. I know Colby has always flirted with me, but he’s a flirt. That’s what he does. It’s nothing serious, nothing he’d get jealous over.

He slowly picks up his fork and knife and cuts into his stack of waffles and pancakes. Not sure why he needed both, but it’s a tall stack. He looks thoughtful as he works. I stay silent, waiting for his response.

Colby finally looks at me, his mouth set in a line. Completely serious. “Why would you want to get the attention of a guy who’s stupid enough not to notice you to begin with?”

I’m taken aback by his comment, and for a second, I wonder… Why do I? But then I remember Dexter Hawthorne; the set of his lean shoulders, his vests, the accent, how he exudes intelligence and grace.

I bristle, feeling defensive of Dexter. “He’s not stupid. I’m just not great around guys I’m attracted to. I get all weird and awkward and opinionated.”

Colby snuffs a laugh. “Angel, you’re always free with your thoughts and opinions. Why does that have to be a bad thing?”

“It’s not a bad thing,” I say. “Some people may need more time to adjust to it, though.”

He rests an elbow on the table, holding his fork loosely in his hand. “Do you realize how absolutely infuriating it is to be around women who feed me whatever they think I want to hear? Who flatter me constantly?”

“Oh yeah,” I tell him sarcastically. “That sounds horrible. All guys hate that, I’m sure.”

“They should. It’s stupid. I could be the world’s biggest asshole and women would still hang all over me. It gets old.”

I heave a heavy sigh. “Can you quit humble bragging? This conversation is about me.”

He laughs. “I’m not bragging. It’s genuinely annoying.” He leans back in his seat, draping one long, tanned arm across the back of our booth. “My point is, if that’s what this guy wants… for women to stroke his ego, maybe he’s not the guy for you.”

Crossing my arms, I slump back in the booth. “You’ve got Dexter all wrong. And I'd like the chance to get to know him better.”

“Dexter?” Colby’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Yes. Dr. Dexter Hawthorne,” I say on a dreamy sigh. “He’s British.”

Colby wrinkles his nose, unimpressed. “He sounds too wimpy for you.”

“Academics are not wimpy.”

He shrugs one of his firm looking shoulders. A sweater-vest would never fit Colby. “Whatever you say. Does he watch hockey?”

“Hockey appreciation is the last thing on my list of things I’d look for in a future partner.” I lean forward, grabbing a few blueberries off my plate, and popping them into my mouth. “And if you must know, he’s quite an athlete.”

“Oh, really?” he asks in that infuriatingly cocky voice of his.

“Yes.” I turn my nose up. “He was on scholarship at university,” I repeat what Dexter told me, and try not to grimace afterward.

“For what? Water polo?” He snickers.

“Pickleball,” I mutter quietly before stuffing another bite of waffle into my mouth.

Colby nearly rolls out of the booth. I’ve never seen a person laugh this hard.

Annoyed, I ignore him while I finish my plate of food. I’ve nearly finished my meal by the time he gets his laughter out. He quietly finishes his plate, but chuckles to himself the entire time. I’ve never met a more infuriating, childish person.

Do his looks alone really get him all the girls? How can they stand his personality?

Before I brought Dexter up, I thought we were having a decent time. Probably the first time I've ever enjoyed Colby’s company. But now he’s ruined it with his incessant laughter and poking fun at my future husband. Okay, maybe not my future husband. But future date, hopefully.

“Noel,” Colby says, reaching his hand across the table and tapping the back of my hand. My eyes dart to Colby’s. I realize I’ve been totally zoned out, deep in thought, for who knows how long. “I’m sorry for laughing. It’s just… pickleball.” He chuckles again. “And also, the idea of you needing help to get this guy’s attention is absurd.”

“Well, I do.” I shrug my shoulders. “And it was humiliating to even ask.”