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She glanced between us and the first hint of a smile teased her lips. “Not yet.”
I glared at him, and he smirked at me before turning his back.
“Friend of yours?” she asked after he resumed tending the crowded bar.
“You could say that.”
She lifted her brows.
“Since I was six,” I said, sliding my coaster a bit closer. “That’s what he’d tell you, anyway.”
“And what would you tell me?”
Her features were softening. Except for her cheekbones, which were so flawless I wished I had my sketchbook. Not that I’d really start sketching her out of nowhere like that. I’d learned the hard way that women didn’t find that romantic unless you were Leonardo DiCaprio, which I wasn’t. Though maybe he’d look like me if he got a light spray tan and a few more wrinkles around the eyes, which was bullshit because dude was at least five years older than me. “I’d say we didn’t hit it off till we were eight.”
She smiled, and the way her long lashes batted made my pulse skip unexpectedly.
I lifted my drink. “I’d like to propose a toast.”
Skepticism shrouded her gaze as she raised her short tumbler.
“To the poor schmuck that made the mistake of his life tonight.” I clinked the base of my bottle against her glass. “May he make better decisions in the new year.”
“What makes you think I’m the one who got dumped?”
I dropped my eyes to her Scotch.
“Oh, right. Good guess.”
“You should try it with Coke,” I said as she took a sip. “Really brings out that paint thinner taste.”
Her eyes scowled, but there was a playful sparkle in them that told me she got the joke. “Thanks for the tip.”
“So what’s wrong with you?” I asked casually, so she’d know I wasn’t being accusatory.
“Apparently, I’m too capable.”
I laughed out loud, my face stretching to accommodate the biggest smile I’d spilled all day.
“I’m glad my plight amuses you.”
“How is that a defect?”
“Beats me.”
Too capable? What a fucking loser.Maybe I was biased, but needy girls were a pain in the ass. Most of the women I’d had the pleasure of dumping waffled between treating me like an emotional punching bag and treating me like an ATM. I didn’t even date anymore because I’d gone out with so many spoiled princesses who thought love meant never having to lift a finger. Too capable? I couldn’t imagine! “If you don’t mind my saying, guy sounds like a tool.”
"He certainly wouldn’t know how to use one.”
I arched an eyebrow.
So,” she asked, swirling the golden liquid in her glass. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Good question,” I said, pondering it. “Not sure I’m the best person to ask.”
“Oh, come on. You seem more self-aware than that.”
“I suppose my problem is that I hate everyone.”
