“If a girl says no, that’s fine …”
“Because there are a million more bunnies waiting in the wings,” she snips before she covers her mouth with her hand. “I’m so sorry, that was mean.”
“You’d be right.” I can’t defend myself there. “But I’m not a normal guy either.”
“That is true.” She nods.
“Not sure if that is a compliment or not,” I say, which makes her grin.
“Both,” she says honestly, and for the first time since we started this conversation, I feel like we are back on track.
“Look, if that Griffin guy isn’t interested, it’s his loss because you’re kind of cool.”
“You think I’m cool?” She smirks at me.
“Yeah. Am I not allowed to say that?”
“No. Just wasn’t expecting that,” she replies.
“You would have to be pretty awesome to be able to beat me at hockey,” I remind her.
She shakes her head, but she’s smiling warmly now at me. “Honestly, I was shitting it.”
“Well, you were great under pressure. Not many professional players would have been able to make that shot.”
“Thanks,” she says, taking the compliment.
“So, back to the idiot who you met while out. What did he actually do?” I ask, wondering.
“He left me on read.”
My brows rise. What a dick. “Well, I’d never leave you on read.”
“Do you have a line for everything?” She chuckles.
“No, but it was pretty smooth, wasn’t it?”
“Okay, well, if you have come here to test out your one-liners, I’m busy, because the internet thinks you’re the hottest man alive.”
I know my DMs are on fire, but I don’t think she needs to know that. “I give the people what they want, and that is all this,” I tease, rubbing my hands over my body, when suddenly I am hit with a rolled-up piece of paper.
“You and your ego can leave.” She laughs.
“Fine, but hey, I’m not sure if you know, but I have this fashion thing in a couple of weeks. The guys are going, and that includes your brothers. You should come with them. There’s going to be a heap of male models there, which should make you forget finance bro.”
She stares at me for a moment. “Are you wing-manning me?”
“Sure.” I shrug.
“Fine, send me the details. It sounds like fun,” she tells me.
“I don’t have your number.”
“Fine,” she grumbles as she holds out her phone and places it against my own, exchanging numbers. “Now you do. Don’t make me regret giving it to you,” she warns.
“Promise,” I say, crossing my heart.
“Go. I have shit to do.”