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“I know, but—”
“And you don’t have to find some nice way to let me down easy. I’m not going to try and take you home.” Something flashed in her eyes, and I hoped it was disappointment, but I couldn’t be sure. “The last thing you need right now is to wake up next to some guy with perfect chest hair and fingers that could play you into a puddle.”
“Perfect chest hair?”
I shrugged. “It’s a thing, apparently. I’ve been told.”
“How nice for you.”
“Besides, I’m sure you’re quite capable of satisfying your own needs.”
“Would you drop it?” she said. “I’m not that capable.”
“I’m still not going home with you. Sorry.”
Her mouth fell open with a gasp. “That is not what I meant. I never—”
“I’m joking,” I said. “Chill out. All I meant is that I’m not about to take advantage of you when you’re vulnerable.”
“I’m not vulnerable.”
“You would be in my bed.”
Her eyes widened, but she regained her composure quickly. “Are you sure we haven’t met before?”
“I’m sure.”
She shook her head. “You look so familiar. I’m worried I saw you on America’s Most Wanted or something.”
I squinted at her. “For real?”
“How should I know?” she asked. “You could be hiding in plain sight, asking your buddy to slip something in my drink. Next thing I know, I wake up in a dumpster somewhere in six parts.”
“Jesus Christ.” I faced forward again. “If I didn’t believe you before, I do now.”
“About what?”
“Not playing hard to get.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to suggest you were a serial killer, but no one is really named Finn.”
“Ask Brian.”
“Brian could be in on it.”
I threw my eyes to the tinsel overhead. “Ask anyone in this bar. Literally anyone.”
“Fine,” she said. “I believe you.”
“That was easy.”
“Have they all seen your chest hair, too?”
“Just because I play guitar doesn’t mean I’m easy.”
“Hey,” she said, lifting her palms. “I’m not here to judge.”
“What are you here to do?”
