“If you want to get a drink sometime,” I continued. “With me.”
“This is very kind of you,” Felix said, his voice getting soft and hesitant. The soothing, flowing amber dripped away, and he worked the card between his fingers with a sort of nervous tension. “But… I have to decline.”
“Oh.Oh.” The rejection reeked of heterosexuality. “I’m sorry.” I felt like I’d just landed both shoes into a steaming pile of crap.
Felix offered me the card.
I pushed it back to him. “No, please get your coat cleaned.” I gave Felix a smile, even though I knew it wasn’t all that believable. “I wouldn’t want you smelling like cider. Not that—it smellsgreat!”
Felix smiled lightly.
I stopped talking, took a deep breath, then said, “Have a good night.”
“You too.” He stepped to the side.
I nodded and walked out the door, the sting of cold air nowhere near as bad as making an ass out of myself for a second time that day in front of the same guy.
Chapter Two
22 Days Until Christmas
“THAT’S Akick in the balls,” Scarlet said.
I sat on the couch in my disorganized living room, staring at the Skype video on my laptop. “It was awful,” I murmured.
“Sorry, Boy. At least he was polite.”
“Yeah,” I said absently, watching Scarlet tie her cotton-candy-colored hair back and take a sip of beer. “I can’t stop thinking about it. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Blue balls will do that to you.”
“Please stop talking about balls.”
“When’s the last time you got any action?” she asked, leaning in close to the screen.
I felt my face heat up. “Hey, I don’t ask you that.”
“That sounds like at least three or four months.”
“Scarlet!”
“Oh, nope, you’re getting all red and blotchy. I’d say closer to six months.”
I covered my face and scrubbed it vigorously with my hands. “I can’t believe I was hitting on a straight guy. That hasn’t happened since college.”
“It’s not the end of the world.”
I peeked between two fingers, watching Scarlet sip her beer again. “I know,” I finally said, dropping my hands. “But I’m not usually a victim of insta-crush.”
“Please,” Scarlet muttered.
“I’m not!”
“Remember that guy at Whiskey Bar last year? What was his name?”
“Dean,” I said in an embarrassingly dreamy tone. “Hey, you insta-crushed on him too!”
Scarlet smirked and then sort of stared off into space. “God, he was pretty.”
