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“Nope.” I was trying my best not to grin.
He punched me in the shoulder, smiling at me. “Man, I’m happy for you.”
“Don’t be yet. I still have to make a move.” And since she already gave me the signal, I wasn’t sure anything I said or did would put me in the running for taking her out.
“Right, don’t count your chickens before they hatch,” he nodded. “So, what’s the plan?”
I glanced into the living room, making sure she was still in there and hadn’t started wandering around. The last thing I needed was for her to hear me plotting. “I have to figure out how to comfort her first. I’ve never actually done something like that.”
“Right, so a drink,” he nodded.
“Is alcohol the way to go?”
“That’s what I would do. It might even be good for you. Get her loose and maybe you’ll get lucky.”
“Yeah, and then she might wake up regretting it,” I pointed out. “That’s not exactly going to do wonders for my ego.”
He grimaced. “Yeah, what if she started crying during sex? Kind of a mood killer.”
“Exactly.”
“Okay, so stay away from alcohol. What about coffee?”
“Then she’ll be up all night and I’ll have to listen to her cry over another man. I want to help her, but come on, there’s only so much I can take.”
“So, no on the coffee. Well, that leaves tea, which we don’t have. Warm milk?”
“Is that actually a thing?”
“I don’t know. But I’ve heard people do it.”
“That sounds disgusting,” I said, repressing a shiver of disgust.
His brows pinched as he continued thinking. “Maybe drinks are the wrong way to go. Maybe you need food.”
I liked the way he was thinking. “Comfort food. Chicks dig comfort food.”
“Yeah, but which one? What if there’s a different kind of comfort food for different situations? And what happens if you give her the wrong one?”
“I doubt that’s a thing,” I said, shooting him an irritated look.
“Oh, sure. You ask for my help and then scoff at my ideas. I’m just saying, ice cream is a known food that women indulge in after a breakup.”
“But this isn’t a breakup,” I insisted.
“It sort of is. Then again, if you give her ice cream and it’s not the right food, she might stay in her pajamas shoving her face full of ice cream for the next week. She’ll get all bloated and fat, and then you might not want her.”
“Right, because I’m that shallow.”
He stared at me, quirking an eyebrow.
“Okay, I might be that shallow. But any comfort food could cause the same reaction. Salt makes you bloated, too. Can’t I just knock herout and let her sleep for the next twelve hours? Wouldn’t that be easier?” I asked as frustration built.
“Sure,” he nodded. “I can see that going well. She’ll wonder why you knocked her out and you’ll tell her you couldn’t take her whining.”
“I didn’t say whining,” I stressed. I thrust my hand through my hair, thoroughly frustrated with the whole situation. “Why can’t she just like me? Why do I have to help her get over another guy?”
“I thought this was what you wanted?”
