Page 30 of The Nanny and the Hothead
Mitch watched in horror as some lanky douche with his hat on backward plopped down in front of Charlotte. She couldn’t think this was her Prince Charming, could she? And he couldn’t help himself from watching over her. Luckily, now that she was seated, he could get a little closer. Plenty of the bar patrons were getting a kick out of watching the spectacle and had huddled around the perimeter of the speed dating tables. He slid in next to a group of men talking sports, allowing him to position himself a few feet behind the tipsy mermaid.
“Five, four, three, two, one! Speed date!” the jackass from the door called, counting down again, then dinged the stupid bell.
Charlotte reached into the basket and opened the first question. From his vantage point, he could see it, too.
She folded, then unfolded the paper.
“What’s with the outfit?” the guy across from her barked.
“It’s a long story,” she answered, shifting in her seat. “How about I read the question, and we can get started?”
“Whatever,” the dude answered, checking out a busty brunette a few tables down.
“What’s your favorite sandwich?” Charlotte read. She set the question down, then scribbled her answer on the pink scrap of paper.
Grilled cheese.
Holy shit! Mitch stared at her answer.
The douche scribbled something, then held it up. “I’m a BLT guy.”
Charlotte set her pink square down on the table and covered it with her hand. “What are the chances? BLTs are my favorite, too.”
That was a lie! He freaking saw her write grilled cheese. Why the hell was he so interested? Again, what did it matter? But oddly, it did.
Ding!
Charlotte’s shoulders slumped beneath the towel as she popped a Jell-O shot into her mouth, and a new guy slid in across from her. Looking more like he had a piece of brown shag carpet stapled to his chest, the guy had undone five, no, six buttons on his shirt. Who did he think he was, Don Juan? This dude was worse than the last one!
The hairy speed date guy plucked a question from the basket with meaty fingers. “What’s your dream vacation?”
“That’s a good one!” Charlotte replied.
Mitch looked on as she wrote.
A secluded mountain retreat.
He raised an eyebrow. That would have been his answer, too.
The meaty chest hair guy held out his response. “I’m all about Cabo. Bring on the drinks! Where’s the beach? What do you say, Red?” the leisure suit Larry wannabe cooed in a syrupy voice as he stared at Charlotte’s chest.
What a pig!
He was half-ready to drag the weasel out of the bar and toss him into the gutter.
“Yeah, that’s my idea of a great vacation, too,” she lied—again.
What was she doing? He could see her answers. Why did she agree with these total ass clowns?
“Any chance you wanna give me a peek under the towel?” the guy pressed, taking her hand into his as Charlotte gasped.
Mitch took a step forward as his body tensed, ready to pounce on this tool.
“So nice of you to ask, but I have to decline,” she replied, her words beginning to slur.
Okay, she was probably halfway toHammeredvilleby now. But at least she didn’t seem into this creep.
Ding!
