Page 22 of Wicked Flirt
He smirked. “When I kick your ass at pool, you can buy me a beer.”
“Ha! You’ll be the one buying me a beer.” She grabbed her down vest and purse, shifted like she was going to stand, and then seemed to change her mind, staying in place. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“I’ve watched you flirt with every single one of my friends, but you never flirted with me. Why?”
“I thought you’d bite my head off,” he replied honestly.
She frowned, her brows drawing together. “Am I that scary?”
“Not scary. More like a back-off attitude around men.”
Her lips pressed together. “It’s complicated. I like men for some things.”
“Not going to touch that one.”
She went on, her voice earnest. “I just haven’t been too impressed with men as a species. Overall.”
“Well, on behalf of my species I saythrbt!” He blew a raspberry.
She shoved her arm in her down vest. “Mature.”
“You realize we’re the same species with some complementary parts?”
She got her vest on and threw one final look at him that he could not interpret. Irritated? Intrigued? He’d never had so much trouble reading a woman. “You sound smart,” she said. “Much smarter than when you flirt.”
So I sound like an idiot when I flirt? Thanks a lot!
He narrowed his eyes. “This is how I talk to guys. You’re now a guy to me.” Yup, he was really going to win her over now. He couldn’t help getting defensive when she threw jabs like that. Sure, he might look like a hulking mass of muscle, but underneath all that, he had feelings, sometimes very sensitive feelings. He’d sooner parade around naked in Times Square than admit any of that shit.
She cocked her head. “So you normally talk down to girls. Hey, darling, hey, sweetheart, aren’t you a pretty little thing?”
He clenched his jaw. “No, I charm them. That means a lot of compliments. Don’t need big words for those, do I?”
“What did you do before you owned this bar?”
“Why?”
“Because I’m trying to understand what makes you the way you are.”
The way you are?That sounded bad. “How am I?”
She gestured for him to hurry up. “Just tell me what you did before you owned a bar.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “After I graduated from Penn—”
“Penn!”
“Yeah,” he said slowly. “Penn. Economics degree. I headed to Wall Street, dollar signs in my eyes. Got sick of that frantic life, moved to a hedge fund; then I…” He stopped himself. She didn’t need to know that.
“What? Tell me.”
“It’s stupid.Reallystupid.”
“If you went to Penn, you can’t be stupid. It’s written all over their Ivy walls.” She leaned close, her voice lowering. “Come on, tell me.”
He grimaced. “I got married.”
