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My lips coil into a bigger grin. “Of course.”
“Or if we go out.”
“Well, where are we going?”
“I dunno,” he grounds out. “But socializing is what you’re good at, right?”
Depends on the people.
Nonetheless, I’m better at it than when I was a teenager.
“Any other rules I need to abide by?” I inquire. “I wouldn’t dare want to disrespect the game of hockey, so I won’t read at the game. I’ll sit there and—”
“Ask questions,” he orders with knitted brows. “You want to impress the boy next door so bad, you’re going to need to know shit.”
That’s a given.
“I won’t have a problem with that.” I go to stuff the rest of my bag and mentally double-check that I have everything.
Oh, socks.
“What are you gonna do when he finally starts talking to you?”
I stop mid-pull of my top drawer and frown. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, are you the kind of girl that shies away from advances, or if he tries to kiss you, you’re going to take it?”
What kind of question is that?
Slowly, retrieving a few bundled pairs of socks, I don’t pay any attention to what color or kind. The only thing that shapes my brain is that Reid must really think I’m a failure when it comes to the opposite sex. Just because I asked for his help doesn’t mean I can’t land a guy. It’s that I know zero information about hockey, and Weston has been the first dude that’s turned my head recently.
Yes, it’s been three years since I’ve had a boyfriend, but I’ve enjoyed my time being alone. I’ve grown a lot into myself, and I’m confident. Something I didn’t have much of growing up.
“I’m not sure how to even answer that question,” I finally reply, closing my drawer and waltzing back up to my bed again. Though, I don’t look at him. Sometimes, it’s hard to keep Reid’s intimidating gaze when I can’t fully read what’s behind it.
“I don’t want to go through all this trouble if you’re going to run away from him.”
I scoff—can’t help it. The challenge that he just handed out alludes I’m some panic-stricken woman just because I don’t throw myself at men and bat my eyelashes.
“How about you go back to not talking?” I suggest, tossing my socks aimlessly into my bag and zip it up.
The nerve of this guy, my goodness.
No wonder he’s not married. The charm on him would cutthroat any woman who dared get too close.
“Did I hit a nerve, Shorty?”
I have my bag over my shoulder and turn to face him. “You didn’t hit anything. I’m ready to go.”
His mouth does this thing. This daring little summons that he doesn’t believe I’d do such a thing. That I’m a runner. Someone incapable of receiving a simple kiss from a man I have a crush on.
This man is infuriating.
And I don’t believe I’ve ever met someone so over-critical in my life.
“Show me.”
My face twists at those two words because I’m not entirely sure what he wants me to do, and I don’t have to prove myself to anyone. He’s so in a hurry to do everything; I’m not sure why he hasn’t sprinted out of my bedroom door yet and hopped in the car.
