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“What is this?” Dylan pointed at the screen. “Wow. You really are trying to flirt, aren’t you?”
“Okay, wow. What is this? Interrogate Saylor Day?” I shut the browser window completely and reached for the top of the laptop to close it down, but Dylan stopped me.
“Why are you being so dramatic?”
“I’m not being dramatic. I just don’t need you hovering over my shoulder while I’m trying to have a private conversation.” I shoved the laptop to the side onto the sofa and got up to get a bottle of water.
“Oh, you woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning,” Dylan mused.
I glared at him over my shoulder.
He held up his hands. “Why don’t you let me help you?”
“Help me do what?”
“Flirt.”
I closed the fridge and stared at him. “What are you going to do? Literally teach me how to flirt? That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it going well for you without any help?”
I opened my mouth before I realized I only had one answer and it was not a positive one. “It’s not my fault people don’t appreciate my brand of humor.”
“Your brand of humor is almost exclusively sarcasm, sweetheart.”
“Which doesn’t translate well on the internet,” I said with a sigh. “It’s not my fault people don’t find me as funny as I find me.”
“Yes,” he said slowly. “You are hilarious.”
I offered him a view of my middle finger.
“Why don’t we go out tonight?” Dylan questioned. “I’ll be your wingman.”
“You’ll be my wingman? In White Peak? Let me assure you that there is absolutely nobody in this town I would ever want to flirt with.”
“Then we’ll go somewhere else. We don’t even have to drink, but we can work on your… flirting.”
“I don’t like this. It’s basically the same as that stupid blind date and look how that ended.”
“I thought it ended well.” He grinned. “For me, at least. I can use that video as blackmail.”
“Okay, so you need to sleep with one eye open.” I walked past him on the way to my bedroom.
“Is that a yes?”
“It’s a you’re buying me food and I’m not staying longer than an hour. Those are my terms and I’m not budging!”
“You’re like a dog.”
I stilled and looked back at him. “Excuse me?”
Dylan smirked. “Always motivated by food.”
“Well, it’s one of the few things that makes me happy.”
“Am I one of those things?”
“No. I had a date with sweatpants and a book. You’re on my shit list. Now go away. I have to shower so I can look marginally human for this stupid little flirt mission you’re insisting I go on.”
“I promise it’ll work!”
“No it won’t!”
CHAPTER SEVEN – SAYLOR
RULE SEVEN: THERE’S A REASON GIRLS USE THEIR BEST FRIENDS AS WINGMEN. YOU CAN’T PRETEND YOU’RE A LESBIAN IF YOUR WINGMAN HAS A PENIS.
HOLLEY: I’m so mad we’re not there.
I rolled my eyes and hit the reply button, making an ‘oomph’ noise when we hit a pothole.
“Sorry,” Dylan muttered, but there was absolutely nothing sorry about the laugh he was hiding.
Jerk.
ME: I’m not mad. I don’t want you here. I don’t want to be here.
KINSLEY: Then why are you?
ME: He agreed to buy me food.
Holley replied with a string of emojis rolling their eyes.
KINSLEY: You’re so predictable.
ME: It’s not my fault if I’m a big fan of food. It rarely lets me down and pizza has never cheated on me.
HOLLEY: Pizza can’t cheat on you.
ME: And that’s why me + pizza = happily ever after.
KINSLEY: I’d read that book. Please write it.
ME: More likely to write a book where an evil witch kills all people who think blind dates are a good idea.
HOLLEY: Yet your hot roommate can take you to a bar and teach you how to flirt. What if he finds someone and wants to take her home? Is he going to pop her in the backseat?
ME: No. If he meets someone, he can go to her place and I’ll drive his car home.
HOLLEY: Does he know that?
ME: He made me do this. I don’t care.
KINSLEY: That’s a no.
ME: All right, that’s enough of you two. Bye now.
I put my phone into my purse and sat back with a huff.
“Problem?” Dylan asked, turning on his blinker.
“My friends are assholes.”
“All the best ones are.” He made the turn, immediately followed by another, and pulled into the parking lot of a bar. It was bright and lively and…
“A sports bar? Really, Dylan? What makes you think I wanted to go to a sports bar?”
“They have great food here. “He looked over at me.
“You can’t teach me to flirt in a place where guys aren’t looking to meet someone. Guys don’t go to sports bars to meet girls.”
“You’re right. We don’t. We go to sports bars to talk shit, eat food, drink beer, and yell at men who can’t hear us on the TV.”
“You’re the first man I’ve ever met who will admit that the guys on the TV can’t hear you.” I got out of the car and headed toward the door.
