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I snorted.

“Don’t get a close-up. It’s way too aggressive,” Liz said. “Try and get your abs in there, maybe a little thigh or some side butt. Women like that. Double-check the background. No dirty laundry or a TV on. Do not, under any circumstances, take this pic wearing only a shirt. It’s extremely creepy. You can be wearing pants or boxers sort of pulled down, but no shirt. And don’t put a ruler next to it.”

I scoffed. “Men put a ruler by it?”

“All. The. TIME,” she said.

Doug shook his head. “Rookie shit. And manscape,” he said, setting up the light. “It’ll make it look bigger.”

I blew out a breath. “Anything else?” I asked reluctantly.

Doug was standing back with one eye closed, his hands in front of him, framing a section of my tool wall. “I think here’s good. Manly. She sees the tools in the background, makes her think of getting nailed.”

Liz laughed through the phone. “I’m hanging up now. Good luck!” And then from the background, “GOOD LUCK!”

She was at the bar. With everyone.

I put my face into my hand.

It took me twenty minutes, but I got the picture and sent it to Alexis. She called me five minutes later, whispering.

“I got this in the middle of dinner with my parents.”

“Oh, shit—”

“No, so far it’s been the highlight of the whole night,” she whispered.

I laughed. “Where are you?”

“In the bathroom.”

I leaned back in my seat and stretched. “You should bring them down.”

“Who?”

“Your parents.”

She went silent on the other end.

“You wouldn’t want to meet my parents,” she said. “Trust me.”

There was something “end of discussion” about her tone. I let it go.

“So when do I get to see you?” I asked.

“I can come down tomorrow after work.”

I grinned. “Okay. Do you mind if we go out to eat?”

“You want to take me out?”

“There’s a thing at the VFW. It’s not anything fancy. Just a spaghetti dinner. Liz and everyone will be there. If you’re not comfortable with that we can skip it.”

“I like spaghetti,” she said. “Sounds like fun.”

I moved the phone away from my mouth like she could hear my grin. “Okay, it’s a date,” I said. “Hey, didn’t you say once you were a picky eater?”

“Yeah. I am.”