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I twist my lips as I think. “The blood of small children.”
He chuckles. “Tempting.”
“Actually, as far as alcohol goes, I would guess Jägerbombs.”
“And why is that?”
“You explode.”
“When have I ever exploded?”
“When my dog barks or makes a mess.”
“Ah yes, Barry the mutt.” He smirks.
I smile and take a sip of my margarita. “Oh, this is good, and don’t say it like that.”
“Say what?”
“Mutt.”
“Why not.”
“It sounds hot.” I smile. “Does things to me. Gives me tingles.”
“Mutt,” he mouths.
I smile goofily. “You should put that on your Tinder profile.”
“What?” he scoffs.
“‘I sound hot when I say the word mutt.’” I widen my eyes, and he chuckles.
I feel a little of our chemistry return.
“Actually, that’s a good idea,” I tell him.
“What’s a good idea?” he asks.
“You can help me write my friends-with-benefits Tinder profile.”
“No.” He screws up his face in disgust.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever heard of, that’s why. You’ll have every weirdo sex maniac on the planet applying.”
“One can hope.” I smile into my drink.
He rolls his eyes. “It’s not going to work, you know.”
“What’s not going to work?”
“You won’t be able to do it. You’re going to fall in love.”
Would that be so terrible?
“No, I won’t,” I lie.
