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He turned to glare at her. “By all means, feel free to make your way back to Olander.”
“Nah. You’re right,” she said, sipping her wine. “He had player written all over him. And for the record, I had zero intention of going home with him. But between the two of you, he was a better conversationalist.”
“Yeah, well, most men will be chatty enough when they want to get in a woman’s pants.”
“Should I be insulted?” she said with a little smile.
He cut her a look, then glanced away. “You’re not my type.”
It was both true and…not true. Jordan was tall, athletic, and blond, whereas Luke generally gravitated toward dark-haired women with soft curves. However, he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t given some serious thoughts to Jordan’s lean curves, imagined digging his fingers into that hair as he explored every corner of her mouth.
His comment had been meant to put some distance between them, but she merely laughed and turned to face him more fully. “Enlighten me. What’s your type?”
“What’s it matter?”
“It matters so that when you agree to do the show, I can tell the casting director what sort of candidate to focus on.”
Her voice was light and teasing, but he saw right through it. She was trying to coax him into a conversation he didn’t want to have, based solely on her charms.
He didn’t bite.
Luke lifted his finger to Gary for another beer. Then glanced at Jordan’s near-empty wineglass, nodded for another for her as well.
“Thought we agreed you weren’t going to ask me to do the show,” he said.
“I didn’t ask. I’ve decided to just start treating it as an eventuality.”
Luke shifted to study her. “Word games, City? Would have thought you were better than that.”
Jordan merely lifted an eyebrow. “Would you really have? Because the way I see it, you’ve seemed determine to dislike me since the moment you met me.”
“Convince me otherwise.”
“You won’t even give me a chance.” Her voice was soft, and for some reason that bugged him more than if she’d been pushy and demanding. He didn’t want her to be soft and beguiling; he wanted—needed—her to piss him off so that he could keep her at a distance.
“Is this your new ploy?” he muttered. “Sweet-talking people into doing your bidding?”
“More like coaxing people to do things that scare them.”
The hell…
Luke glared. “That’s bullshit.”
Her straight gaze was a challenge. “Is it? Look at me and tell me that the thought of putting yourself out there again doesn’t scare the crap out of you.”
Gary slid a beer and a glass of wine their way, then hurriedly backed away even before they could say thanks.
“Go back to Travis,” Luke snapped at Jordan.
Her fingers touched his arm, and he had to stop himself from shaking her off—from letting on that though the touch was causal, his response was anything but.
“Your friends and family are worried about you.”
“Says the girl who’s known them all of what, three days?”
“Are they right to be?” she asked, ignoring his sarcasm. “Worried?”
“Don’t pretend you give a shit about me, City. We both know your interest in my mental stability has everything to do with the ratings of your show. You’re little more than a vulture in high heels.”
