Page 41 of Biggest Player
“Do you actually believe that?”
“Of course I do.” She swirls her glass some more. “I have to.”
My forehead creases. “I can’t imagine you’ll have a problem finding someone to date.”
She is so fucking cute.
And funny.
And men aren’t as picky as women are, if you don’t count me among those ranks. I’m picky as hell.
“Uh, if you think it’s easy for me because I’m a female, think again. You said so yourself—you don’t want to date anyone with kids. Trust me, there are plenty of men like you, men who want nothing to do with a woman with children, even if it’s only one.”
Those men are fucking idiots.It’s on the tip of my tongue to say. I stop myself, realizing it makes me sound incredibly hypocritical, even though I am being hypocritical.
It doesn’t hurt that I’ve met her now.
And I’ve met her daughter.
That changes my mind a little, just slightly.
“How many dates have you been on?” I ask, watching as the bartender sets down a basket of fries and a basket of fried calamari, dipping sauces on the side.
Yum.
Margot smacks my hand away when I reach for one of the fries. “You said you didn’t want to eat—this is just drinks.”
Eh? “Why do you get to eat and I don’t?”
“’Cause. I can sit here after you leave and continue to feast. I am in no rush.”
That’s not fair.
Not fair at all.
I reach for the basket again, and this time she allows me to steal three fries from it.
“How many dates have I been on?” She brings the conversation back around to my question. “Since downloading the app?” She pulls a sour face, thinking. “Eh, this one? Which doesn’t count, obviously.”
Obviously.
“Should I be offended that you don’t consider this a date?”
“Why would you be offended? We clearly have one another in the friend zone.”
“We have? Since when?” I steal a calamari, dipping it in red sauce and popping the entire piece in my mouth.
“Are you being serious?” Her mouth falls open. “You have no romantic interest in me.”
Says who?
My brain might be saying no, but my dick is saying yes—why do we need to decide right this second who the winner will be?
“Would you like me to have romantic interest?” I ask her, to be clear. I already know she thinks I’m an asshole; she’s told me to my face and in writing numerous times.
Margot nibbles on a fry. “I think that ... had things not gotten off on the wrong foot, things might be different.”
“Are you talking about the whole ‘bribing your kid’ thing?” ’Cause that was an accident.
