Page 22 of The Wingman

“Don’t mention it,” he says over his shoulder, walking into the kitchen. “Water?”

I nod, and he pours two glasses before heading to the living room, and I follow.

“Well, that was a waste of an evening.” I flop down on the sofa beside him. “Sorry about that.”

He shakes his head, smiling. “You did fine. Sorry, I, uh”—he glances at me—“pulled you out of there before you could get his number.”

“I was already trying to think of an exit strategy after I told him he smelled weird.”

Mid-sip, Hayden starts laughing and coughing on his water.

I give him a few firm slaps on his back. His t-shirtis so warm under my fingers, and the planes of his back are shockingly toned.

He clears his throat, still laughing. “I have to hear this.”

“He smelled like pencils, but worse? Like rotten pencils?”

Hayden’s shoulders shake, and I pinch his ribs, which only makes him laugh harder.

“I read a study where the researchers believed that it’s part of our evolutionary system, when we think members of the opposite sex stink. They thought it meant—” I groan, burying my face in my hands. “I don’t want to repeat it. This is exactly why I need lessons on how to be smooth like you.”

He grasps my hands and pries them away from my face, grinning. “Come on.”

I’m wincing so hard, I’m going to strain a muscle. “I told him our DNA isn’t compatible and that we might be distantly related. I blabbed on for about five minutes about the study and then explained in very clear terms that he didn’t smell good to me.”

Throwing his head back, he lets out a booming belly laugh. My heart flops around in my chest, delighted at entertaining him.

“He didn’t seem to mind if he still wanted your number,” he says once he’s composed himself.

“Yeah.” Nerves and hesitation tumble in my stomach.

He frowns, watching me. “What’s that face?”

I suck in a deep breath and try to put my feelings into words, something I’ve never been good at. Equations and patterns, I can do all day, but sifting through the swirling tension and worry doesn’t come so easily.

“Tonight was stressful and scary,” I admit, letting out a shaky breath. “I didn’t feel like a player.” Instead of being in control, I felt like things were happeningtome.

Hayden makes a low, sympathetic humming noise. “Shit, Darce. I’m sorry.”

“No, it wasn’t you. You were great. I needed you there.”

His mouth tips up at that, and I return his smile.

“I feel like I’m diving in too fast, but I don’t want to sit around and wait.” Impatience races through me. “Rule number four isalways have a plan, and I jumped into the flirting deep end without knowing the next steps.” The idea takes shape in my head, sharpening. “If Green Plaid didn’t smell like moldy pencils, and maybe I did like him, how would I show him I want to move things back to his place?”

On the sofa beside me, Hayden’s quiet for a long moment. “You could practice with me.”

My eyebrows pull together. “I am practicing with you.”

He runs a hand over his hair. “No, like, practiceonme.”

“Oh.” I blink, staring into his eyes. Hayden has these crushing blue eyes, light in the center with dark rings. “Like, use you.”

My pulse picks up. Why does that sound so dirty? He doesn’t mean it likethat.

“Yeah.” He swallows, interlacing his fingers and resting them on his flat stomach. “If it would make you more comfortable.”

Nerves rush through me, but they’re not shaky and heavy like they were earlier in the night when I had to talk to that guy. These are lighter, sitting higher in my chest, fluttering and buzzing and fizzing through me. The excited kind of nerves.

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