Page 42 of Biggest Player
“No. I’m talking about me getting salty about you being a catfish and you changing your profile because of it.”
“But I’m not a catfish. I’m me.”
She leans back on the barstool. “Right. And now I have no idea what to do with that information. A teacher cannot date a professional football player—it just wouldn’t work.” She shrugs, stuffing the entire fry in her mouth before reaching for another one. “Opposites might attract but not when someone is this opposite. It’s so extreme.”
She laughs.
“How do you know how opposite we are? You don’t know me.”
Margot rolls her eyes, looking very much like her daughter. “Fine. Give me some of your hobbies.”
“I love the outdoors.”
“See? I don’t.”
“I don’t believe you,” I scoff. “Do you like sledding? Or skiing? Or snowmobiles?”
“Who doesn’t like sledding?” she reluctantly allows.
“Do you like secluded cabins in the woods?”
Her eyebrows go up. “For murder?”
That makes me laugh. “No, not for murder. For roaring fireplaces and hot chocolate and watching the snow fall through the windows.”
She watches me, a blank expression on her face. “Did you suddenly become a poet?”
I laugh again. “Only trying to prove a point.”
She huffs a sigh, crossing her arms. “Fine. I like the outdoors; I was just trying to be difficult.”
No comment. “What about you?” I steal more appetizers.
“I like to read.”
Was that a challenge?
“Same.”
Her head tilts. “Oh, is that so. What kind of books?”
I crack my knuckles, pleased I have an answer to this to fire off. “Mostly audio. Easy to listen to on a flight and in the car.”
“Like murder podcasts and such?”
I can’t keep the smile off my lips. “What is it with you and trying to weasel a confession out of me that I’m a killer, you weirdo.”
When Margot laughs, I study her. Head tipped back, hair falling down her back in waves, tits jiggling in her silk shirt—a dimple suddenly appearing in her cheek.What’sthisnow?A dimple?
Stop it right fucking now.
I want to put my finger in her cheek and poke it. How did I not notice this before? Oh yeah, I know how—she’s been pissed at me until this very moment.
Dimples are my kryptonite.
A game changer.
It must only appear when she finds something really funny. This new indicator of my humor has activated a launch sequence. Must. Make. Her. Laugh.
