Annie slaps me on the back. “Wow, she was super excited to go on a date with you.”
“She didn’t turn me down.” I stand on my toes, watching as she weaves through the mob.
Ethan and Sloane are still giggling. “She most definitely turned you down, Jack.”
I open my mouth, my brain scrambling for words, any words, but I can’t come up with a single coherent thing to say. I pull away from everyone, my interest piqued.
I scan the crowd and find her power walking around the dunk tank, a pink velvet bow tied in her hair that swishes against the top of her perfectly curved ass.
My feet are moving before my brain can catch up, and I run after her.
“Hey, hey, wait a second.”
She rolls her eyes when she spins around, pressing against the garden fence in front of the art gallery. The animal-balloon vendor squeezes past us on the crowded sidewalk.
“I really need to go.”
I cock my head, grinning as she avoids my gaze. “Go where?”
“To work.”
“Where do you work?”
Mr. Leechman had mentioned something about books.
She tugs the sleeve of her sweater, then looks up. I’m met with the biggest blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Blue like the calm water trapped in tide pools. Clear and bright.
“Listen, we don’t need to do this. My friends bid on you as a joke. And you and your sister want to give back to the community after what happened. I get it.”
Funny, but I think I want to do it. Which is weird.
“Where do you want to go on our date?”
Her eyes flick down to my mouth for a moment before meeting my gaze again. Her cheeks are bright pink, but that’sthe softest thing about her as she says in a low, raspy voice, “I’m not interested. Keep the money.”
“Keep the money? I don’t need it. It’s for Merritt Point.”
“No, I suppose when you’re Jack Murphy, you don’t need a thing. Everything and everyone falls at your feet, right?”
I mean, historically, yes. But I’m sensing she won’t, which is annoying the shit out of me if I’m being honest.
“What do you mean?”
She curses under her breath, then leans closer. She smells like vanilla and spice. Maybe cinnamon. It’s entirely too soft for her.
“I don’t know how to say this more plainly. I don’t want to go on a date with you. My friends were trying to help?—”
“I’ll take you somewhere nice.”
Her eyes give me a once-over and—fuck. I think I like it.
“I don’t care if you want to take me to 7-Eleven and buy me a fucking Slurpee. I’m not going on a date with you.”
I press on, loving the way she licks her lips with a small huff. “Why not?”
“I prefer fictional men.” Then, as if I didn’t understand, she continues, “I don’t date.”
“I can be whatever you want me to be.”
