Page 2 of Book Boyfriends
A vee forms front and center on his brow. “Hike.”
“Guess you’re anoutdoorsyguy.”
“Sure.” With a shrug, his attention moves back to his phone.
I bite back an annoyed breath. “My older brother, Rem, is a big hiker. He loves Chino Hills. Which trails do you like?”
“Lots of them.”
Seriously!The fries here are good but not worth this. Blind dates aren’t my thing either, but at least I’m present. Davis appears more décor than an engaged partner. Granted, what hiking trails do you like isn’t going to whip me into a verbal frenzy, but I’m at least trying.
I brush my long brown hair behind my ears. “If you need to be doing something else, it’s okay. If you need to leave?—”
“What?” Confusion twists his features when he looks up.
I wave between us. “You’ve been looking at your phone a lot.”
“I… I didn’t realize… Sorry.” He places the phone on the table.
“If you need to go, it’s okay.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “No. I’m here, Georgia.”
My nose crinkles. “Are you sure? Because we can call this if you want…”
“Yes—” His face scrunches “—I mean, no. I don’t…. We don’t need to call it. Let’s do this. I promised your brother, and I hate breaking my promises.”
Promised my brother? Great!Did Jackson call in a favor for this blind date? My dating history is less than stellar, but I had no idea it wasyounger brother calls in a favorbad. When Jackson told me there was a guy he wanted me to meet, I assumed it was because he thought we’d get on. However, Davis’s engagement screams uninterested.
Is this how my younger brother sees me? Desperate?Shifting in my seat, mortification blazes my cheeks.
For several beats, we stare at each other. The clank of dishes, chatter from other patrons, and muffled music from the bar’s speakers spin around us. It’s the trademark awkward first date pause, where neither of the participants knows what to say. In a book, myactuallove interest would rescue me from this awkwardness. My real-life book boyfriend isn’t in sight. No dashing duke, cinnamon roll baker, or devoted werewolf alpha is coming to my rescue.
“You’re not athletic like your brothers.”
My spine stiffens at thestatement of factaspect of his question. True, I’m not cut out of marble like the pickleball champion of Southern California across from me. With my round hips, thicker thighs, and squishy belly, I’m built for comfort. I detest running, love pastry, and adore my soft curves. Still, I bristle at the undertone of his accusation about my lack of athletic prowess.
“Why do you say that?”
“You’re an indoor girl, remember?” He smirks.
“I can think of someveryathletic indoor activities.” I skate my fingertip around the glass’s rim.
Interest sparks in his eyes.
“Yoga,” I say with adream on, buddylilt.
Davis may have this whole hot nerd aesthetic thing going on, but I don’t plan to engage inindoorsyactivities with him. I’ve been fooled by a handsome face before. Though fooled seems a poor choice of words for what Will did and its impact on my heart.But we’re not going to think about that.
“Yoga?” Davis huffs a breathy chuckle. “Can’t imagine someone from Jackson’s gene pool not being into competitive sports. They call him Beast at the pickleball courts.”
“It’s a deep genetic pool… Lots of options.” My gaze flicks around the crowded bar.
This isn’t the first time someone’s noted the difference between me and my siblings. Rem and Jackson are your poster children for Type A personalities. Sports. Grades. Careers. It’s all a competition for them.
Then there’s me, Georgia Lane. Sometimes, it’s as if the only thing we have in common, besides a shared last name, is each being named after one of Dad’s favorite artists.
“Jackson says you write.” He dips a fry into the ketchup.
