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She’d already compiled a profile for herself in the app. The things she would need, with her personality and experience level, to pick up a guy.
Now, it was time to see how it worked. In theory, at least. All she needed was for him to indicate he wanted to hook up, and then she’d know that her app was a success. And that she actually had a snowball’s chance in hell of having another relationship someday.
“Hello,” she said, moving to where the guy was sitting. “Evie, Evie James.” She stuck out her hand and stood, waiting for him to reciprocate.
He did eventually, but he had that look in his eyes that her sisters usually got whenever Evie was trying to explain something techie to them.
“Brent.”
“Nice to meet you, Brent,” she said, smiling broadly. She mentally went through the list again. “A drink,” she said. “I’d like to buy you one.”
“Okay,” he said.
Jee-zusthis was awkward.
But she was pressing on. She had herFlirtprofile all set. She had “10 Tips to Land a Guy,” and she was going to do just that.
* * *
Caleb Anderson had been watching the thin, awkward redhead out of the corner of his eye for the past half hour. She’d approach six different men and had struck out each time. After her strike out, she’d go to her corner and hyper herself up, scrolling through her phone, then go right back out there.
It was like watching an overeager puppy try to make friends with cat people. Sad. It was sad.
Of course, he was a thirty-five-year-old man in a bar on a Friday night hoping to pick up a stranger for sex, so he imagined he was a little sad, too.
But his chances for success were much higher than hers. So there was that.
He could hear her voice carrying over the music. She was loud. Everything about her. From her steps in her stilettos to her laugh, was damned loud. He had to give her credit. She didn’t seem dented by her lack of success. If anything, she was more determined, more bright.
He should be working on his own happy ending, so to speak, and not worrying about hers. But every time he tried to take his attention off of her, and onto his own needs, he found himself drawn back in.
She was putting on a hell of a show, if nothing else.
“These heels are making me blister,” she said to her current target, who looked like he both didn’t want to be there and didn’t want to scare her away at the same time.
Goddamn. She was so awkward.
“Really, I never wear shoes like this.” She was still talking about her feet. And now bending down to pull a shoe off. She was wobbling, but caught herself on the bar before she face-planted onto the glossy marble floor.
The guy she was talking to seemed willing to overlook the awkward. At least for now. Probably because the girl had a fine rack on her, at least it seemed that way from his vantage point.
Might be one of those lying gel bras. False advertising at its most insidious.
Not that he truly gave a shit one way or the other.
Big or small, tits were tits.
He was a fan.
And now Awkward Girl’s shoe was off. And her weirdness officially trumped her rack. The guy she was talking to was zoned out now, his gaze on the blonde across the room.
Caleb had assessed the blonde already. She was his counterpart. His narcissistic twin flame. Here to hook up just like he was. He could see exactly how the night would go. He could take her back to his place, take her to his room. She’d wrap those legs around him and they’d both work their way to orgasm. They wouldn’t want to exchange numbers. They wouldn’t want to see each other again.
They’d both be hungry for someone else, something else, the next day.
He looked at her, and he couldn’t see how beautiful she was because all he saw was the same thing he saw in himself that he was just so bored by.
He liked the ending, but the journey just didn’t excite him much.
