“I can’t just ask her out. She’s made it clear she’s not interested.”
“Has she though?” Elliot tilts her head. “Because from what I observed, she seems more confused than uninterested. Like she can’t figure out why you’re paying attention to her.”
“Because she’s smart enough to know I’m not worth her time.”
“Jesus Christ,” Brody mutters, opening containers. “You really are pathetic.”
“Thanks for the pep talk.”
“No, seriously. Listen to yourself.” Brody turns to face me fully. “You’ve convinced yourself this woman is too good for you, so you’re not even trying. Meanwhile, she’s probably wondering why you disappeared after flirting with her for months.”
“I wasn’t flirting?—”
“You absolutely were flirting,” Elliot interrupts. “Coffee, dinner, breakfast? That’s the full-court press.”
“And it didn’t work.”
“Because you gave up after two weeks!” Brody throws his hands up. “Most relationships take longer than that to develop, you know.”
“This isn’t a relationship. This is me being an idiot over someone who’s way out of my league.”
Elliot and Brody exchange a look that makes me immediately suspicious.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Elliot says innocently. “Just... what exactly have you been doing for the past two weeks? Besides avoiding her and feeling sorry for yourself?”
I take a long pull from my beer, buying time. Because the honest answer is humiliating, and I’m not sure I’m ready to admit it out loud.
“Dex?” Brody prompts.
“I’ve been... working on myself,” I say finally.
“Working on yourself how?”
Another long pause. Another sip of beer. Another moment of wishing I’d stayed home.
“I may have... purchased some of her audiobook work.”
Elliot blinks. “Some?”
“A few.”
“How many is a few?” Brody asks, though he’s already grinning like he knows this is going to be good.
“Seventeen.”
The silence stretches for exactly three seconds before Brody loses it. Not just laughing—full-body, doubled-over, can’t-breathe hysterics that have him literally rolling on the kitchen floor.
“Seventeen?” Elliot’s voice climbs an octave. “Seventeen audiobooks?”
“They were on sale,” I say weakly.
“What kind of audiobooks?” she asks, though her grin suggests she already knows.
“Various genres. Historical fiction. Mystery. Some... romance.”
Brody makes a sound that might be dying or might be laughing harder. It’s hard to tell from where he’s writhing on the floor.
