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ME: You should hear what the people inside my head say to me. That was a compliment.
Max: Perhaps a psychiatrist over a steakhouse for tomorrow…
ME: Then you’ll never find out more about that library scene.
Max: Six-thirty it is.
ME: Are you… LISTENING TO ME? I am shocked.
Max: Do be quiet.
ME: That’s not what you’ll be saying in 24 hours. *badumtshh*
Max: …Are you flirting with me?
ME: Maybe. Maybe not.
Max: Are you sober?
ME: Yes. Painfully so. I’m just terribly bad at flirting.
Max: Noted.
Max: Avoid the badumtshh thing.
ME: It does have more effect in person when you can do the little air drumstick things.
Max: I’m regretting this already.
ME: As you should, Your Grace. As you should.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
MAX
Not A Date
“Let me get this straight,” Fred said, his voice crackling as my phone signal dropped. “You’re helping this woman out with her book research and that involves you, the perma-bachelor, taking her on dates.”
“It’s not a date,” I said while I checked my shirt for creases. I really didn’t want to have to get the iron out. “It’s me taking her to place she can write about.”
“Are you getting paid for this?”
“No.”
“Are you paying for dinner?”
“I would never let a woman pay for dinner. Neither would you.”
“How misogynistic of us,” Fred said dryly. “Max, mate, that’s a date.”
“It’s not a date.”
“Are you anticipating getting laid at the end of it?”
I paused. “There has been a discussion about a physical relationship, yes.”
Sort of.
