Page 84 of My Merry Mistake
“Some would call that aperk, but you know,” I mutter over the sound of her still talking.
“Plus! You’reso flirtywith everyone. It’s like you can’t help yourself. I think I saw you flirting with Mara Mitchell one day last week after a game.”
“Maralovesme,” I say, thinking of the old woman who funds one of the team’s largest outreach programs.
“She’s eighty years old.”
“She thinks I’m cute.” I grin at her.
She shakes her head, smiling. “You are maddening.”
The light changes and she accelerates into the business district of her small hometown.
“Listen,” she takes on a slightly more serious tone. “If we’re going to be friends—and I’m not saying we are—but if we were, I’d love to offer you some advice. Friend to friend.”
I turn in my seat toward her. “Bring it on.”
“For the right woman, these will be strengths,” she says, eyes back on the road. “Your joking around, your outlook on life, your whole”—she waves a hand in my direction—“thing. They’re just not right for me.”
“Don’t check your boxes, huh?” I say, with more lightness than I feel.
She initially doesn’t say anything, but then winces and shrugs.
“Youch. Like, none of them? Do you have a ‘he’s a nice guy’ box?”
“You smell good,” she says. “That’s a box.”
I laugh loud at that one, though I can’t shake the feeling that my plan to win her over is a fool’s errand.
“I’m sure I don’t check any of your boxes either.” She slows down in front of a parking space.
“Eh, I don’t put people in boxes,” I say.
The car jerks, and she looks at me. “That’s not what?—”
“No, I’m sure you’re right,” I interrupt. “You’re way too uptight for me. I need a woman who knows how to go with the flow.”
A honk sounds behind us, and she goes back to parking the car, sandwiching it between two others like a pro. She puts it in park and turns off the engine. “I can go with the flow.”
“No, youliterallycan’t.”
She frowns, a quiet pout crossing her lips.
“Are youoffended?” I ask, laughing. “You spent the whole ride telling me things that are wrong with me, butyou’rethe one who’s offended?”
“I’m not offended,” she says, then changes her expression. “Wait, are you offended? I didn’t mean?—”
I hold up a hand. “I’m not. I’m just messing with you. Lighten up.” I get out of the car and close the door. Through the closed window, I cup my hands to the glass and shout, “You’re so serious all the time.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Finn
It’s only been about a half hour, and I’ve counted at least eleven eye rolls.
But they haven’t been irritated eye rolls. That’s a good thing. Progress, maybe?
That entire car ride should’ve served as a reminder that Raya Hart will never look at me as anything other than an annoyance—but all it did was make me like her more.
