Page 53 of I Wanna Text You Up

He laughs again and takes the seat Tony was just occupying. I miss the feel of his hand on my lower back the moment his fingers drift away from myskin.

“Were you really considering going home with thatdude?”

“If you hadn’t cockblocked me, I would have.” He gives me a look of disbelief. “What? I would have gone home with him. He’s my type, so whynot?”

He scratches at the scruff covering his jawline. “I didn’t think you were into fratboys.”

I scoff, tossing my hair back over my shoulder. “Pfft. Frat boys are totally mything.”

“I don’t believe you for one minute,Zoe.”

“Oh, really? Well then tell me, oh wise one, whatismytype?”

“Based on what I know about your past relationships, I’d wager to bet that your type is”—he waves a hand down his body—“well,me.”

“You? You thinkyou’remy type?Please.”

One side of his mouth lifts. “Yep.Me.”

“You cannot be serious rightnow.”

“Oh, baby, I know I’m yourtype.”

“Just because I dated one baseball player…” Caleb lifts a brow. “Fine, just because I dated a couple baseball players does not mean I have a thing for them.” His brows shoot higher and I push at his arm. “Itdoesn’t!”

He chuckles at my feeble attempt to shove him. “Are you trying to bullshit me or yourself right now? Because we both know I’mright.”

“You are not right. I’m not attracted toyou.”

“Right.” He takes a sip of his beer, that stupid smirk still on hisface.

“Fine. What if Iam?”

“Then we’re on an even playing fieldhere.”

“We’re flirting again,right?”

“We’re flirtingagain.”

“But that’s all it is,yes?”

He rolls the bottom edge of his beer bottle along the table, eyes trained on me. “If that’s what youwant.”

“Is that whatyouwant?”

“I want whatever’s going to make you happiest,Zoe.”

You.“Right.”

It’s all I say—all Iallowmyself tosay.

Tonight’s not about Caleb and me and our unspoken rule of allowing ourselves to toe the line but not cross it. It’s about getting out of the house and having somefun.

And that’s exactly what I intend todo.

I bring my beer to my mouth and take a small sip, glancing down to the other end of the bar and beyond. My eyes fall to the dance floor and I can feel that familiar ache. I’m itching to get out there. I’ve always loved going to the clubs and losing myself in the music, but as I’ve mellowed out over the years, I’ve resigned myself to the tiny dance floor of Lola’s. Just like so many other nights, it’s going to have to do for thenight.

“I’m going to dance,” I announce. “Watch this forme.”

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