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“Oh, I’m not offended, but it seems I’m not lucky enough to go unnoticed today.”
That has me grinning like an idiot. “Admit it, you like me. And last night you bit your lip more than once thinking about me in the nude wearing only a hat.”
“Puh-lease, unless your name is Shawn Mendes, you are not in my fantasies.”
“What’s a guy got to do to get in your fantasies?”
She tips her coffee, her eyes alight with surprise.
“Cat got your tongue?”
“You’re more like a hairball, Prescott.”
“Ouch.”
“Yo, Lance,” Patrick calls my name as he enters the coffee shop. He barely glances at Har
per and kicks the bottom of my chair. “What are you doing?”
“Drinking coffee and talking to Harper,” I grit out in annoyance. He barely spares her a glance.
“Harper, this is—”
“Number thirty-four, Patrick Wallace aka ‘Loose Ends.’”
This piques his interest. “You the dancer girl?”
“Yep,” Harper says, popping the ‘p’ without looking up from her tablet. “That’s me. So,” she says, scrolling, “how much shit has he talked about me?”
“Little bit,” Pat replies with a smile. He’s a tank, twice my size and one of the best linebackers in the state. He looks like a hulked-up version of Opie—Sons of Anarchy, not Andy Griffith—as he glances between us trying to figure out what I’m up to. I’m unsure myself.
He lightly kicks the side of my chair again. “So, we going, or what?”
Sipping the last of my coffee, I stand. “Later, Priss.”
“Mr. Grinch,” she gives me a curt nod in dismissal, and I bark out a laugh before leaning down to whisper in her ear. She smells like vanilla and coffee.
“What color hat was I wearing?”
Her reply is instant. “Black.”
“I knew it.”
She scowls as I back away with a satisfied smile. “Busted.”
She shakes her head, heat evident on her cheeks as I join Pat at the door.
He glances back at her, confused, and grills me the minute we step outside. “You into her?”
“I told you, we work out together at Jake’s dad’s gym,” I glance back before the door closes, catching her eyes on me before she flicks them back to her tablet. Grinning, I turn back to Pat. “And I don’t dislike her. Why?”
“Well, that’s surprising considering a few weeks ago you did nothing but bitch to Jake about her… She’s not your type, is she?”
I’m already offended. “What do you know about my type?”
“I know enough to know she’s not it. She’s plain and not exactly…hot, dude.”
“What the fuck? What does it matter to you?”
