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Not as bad as Crew’s suggestion but not my idea of a great night out either. If that’s what our girl wants to do, though, I’ll pick up a brush and make something happen. If I know Danielle, which I do, she was trying hard to come up with something that didn’t fall in anyone's particular favor.
I fish around in the bowl and pull another suggestion out. “Take a cooking class.” Michael’s, obviously. I can definitely do that.
“This is proving nothing,” Crew calls out. “Except ruining the fun. Now we know what they all say.”
I ignore him and pull out another one. I know I’m right. He’s rigged the bowl. “You already know what they all say, because most are yours.”
“Pack a picnic and watch the sunset.” I look over at Danielle, touched by how romantic she is, to the point that I momentarily forget about McNeill. “That’s sweet, baby. I love this idea.” God, she’s so damn adorable.
She blushes. “Thank you. In a few weeks, the weather will be warmer too.” She leans over and presses her mouth over mine.
It’s tempting to be distracted right out of my irritation, but I amnotplaying laser tag.
I dig into the bowl again. “Mini-golf,” I say grimly.
That’s McNeill all fucking day long, which means he added extra slips of paper. I glare at him. “That’s four suggestions for you when there were only supposed to be three.”
“Guess I can’t count.”
Danielle’s jaw drops. “Crew!” But she sounds more delighted than angry with him.
She’s always delighted with Crew.
I grab another piece of paper. “Clubbing? You’re an asshole, McNeill.”
“How do you know that’s mine?” he demands, sitting up. “That could be Doc’s.”
I raise my eyebrows.
Michael laughs. “That is not mine but I’m always up for a little dancing.”
“That isn’t helping,” I tell him.
He shrugs.
“Where are mine?” I demand. “None of these are mine.” I gesture to the pile of paper on the end table.
Crew groans and falls backward onto the couch. “Oh, come on, the opera? I just…traded that one out for something better.”
“How is…bowling—I wave yet another slip of paper in the air—better than the opera?”
“That’s not even a real question,” he says. “You might as well have written “take a nap,” on your paper.”
“Crew,” Danielle says. “That’s really very naughty.” She’s trying to sound firm, but not succeeding at all. The corner of her mouth keeps lifting, and she is clearly trying not to laugh. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, giving her puppy dog eyes as he holds his arms out for her. “Do you forgive me?”
“Of course,” she says, immediately going to the couch and climbing on it to kiss him.
“Unbelievable.” I shake my head. “You’re going to the opera,” I tell him, pointing my finger at him. “Tomorrow night. Pick out your favorite suit.”
“Dani?” he asks, pleadingly. “Help?”
She takes a deep breath, like she’s gathering herself. Then she pins him with a hard stare.
“It looks like we’re going to the opera tomorrow night,” she tells him. She disengages herself from Crew’s hug and tries to extract herself from the couch. I hold a hand out to her, which she takes with a backward glance at him. “And you really should be apologizing to Nathan, Crew, not to me, since it’s his ideas you traded out.”
That makes me feel absurdly triumphant. “Baby, you sound so fucking hot when you’re being forthright.”
