“There’s no need for that,” I mutter mulishly as I pull my phone away from my chest. Just a hint of threat is all it takes. “I let you look, but you’re not allowed to laugh.”
“Why would I laugh?” he asks, still loving this exchange as I input my phone’s security codes which, thankfully, only takes me one attempt this time. I hand it over and my stomach somersaults with nervousness.
“I’m looking for,” Whit begins, reading aloud the first prompt I’ve chosen. “Someone who loves our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, and is down to show me what London has to offer.” His attention slides to me, his mouth turned down.
“What? What’s wrong with that?”
“I didn’t know you were religious.”
“I’m not particularly. I just thought it might set the right tone.”
“Because every man wants to corrupt a good girl?” he grates out.
It’s my turn to pull a face. “No!” Unless they do, because how would I know? “Wait, is that really true?”
“I’m sorry to break it to you, but men don’t operate from one massive hive mind.”
“I know that.” Because it wouldn’t need to be massive to support the majority of them. “Look, I used the religious line because the tone I wanted to set was I’m not interested in any funny business. You know, not DTF.”
“What’s DTF?” Whit gives a tiny, confused shake of his head as he stares down at me.
“It’s an acronym.”
“Yes, but for what?”
“You know.”
“If I did, would I be asking?”
“It means down to… fudge. But the other word.”
“I don’t know what the other word is,” he says. But then his mouth quirks and it makes me want to hit him. “I’m just pulling your fudging leg.”
“Well, be careful. That leg has a donkey’s kick.”
“Good,” he says, leaning his forearm down against the island countertop. “Because the God-fearing, good girl Christian angle could go both ways. It might send the right signal to some, but to others, it might make you more of a challenge.”
“Urgh!” I drop my head back like my neck is a flexible joint. “This ishard!”
“Let’s look at the rose sender’s prompts,” he says, swiping my phone out of my hand.
“Hey!”
“Greg?” He glances up from the screen, brows riding high on his head.
“What’s wrong with Greg?”
“What’s right with him?”
“You can’t object to a name.”
“I think you’ll find I can object to whatever the fuck I like.”
“Let me see.” I reach out when Whit twists his upper body, holding my phone out of reach.
“Ah-ah!” he mouths as though talking to a toddler. “Now, where were we?” Still holding the phone over my head, he taps the screen and begins to read the first prompt. “‘Something about me that surprises people is… I’m still single.’” Whit’s phone-holding arm drops, along with his expression. “What a complete twat.”
“You don’t think that’s cute?”
