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He sticks his hand out. “In that case, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Grayson Nash.”
I blush—hard—as the pickup line works on me.
As I start to say my name, I realize…he doesn’t recognize me. Or maybe he does, somewhere in the recesses of his mind, but I’m not the girl I was when I was fifteen.
But if he doesn’t know who I am, I don’t want to blow my chances at wherever this night might lead with the truth that I’m his high school best friend’s little sister all grown up. He wouldn’t be looking at me with sex in his eyes the way he is if he knew I was the same girl who used to sit on the living room floor pretending to work out whenever he came over just to impress him with my five-pound dumbbell skills while he totally ignored me.
So I make a snap decision and swap out my name for another. “I’m A—uh, Cookie.”
“Cookie? That’s your name?”
“Well, no. It’s a nickname. I’m a pastry chef.”
“A pastry chef, huh? What’s your favorite thing to bake?”
“Cookies, of course. But I also love decorating cakes. Someday I’m going to open my own bakery,” I say, sharing my dream with Grayson Nash without even thinking twice about it.
“Big dreams,” he says.
“Nope.” I shake my head. “Sinful.”
His brows crinkle together. “Sinful dreams?”
“Oh, I thought you were naming my bakery. I want to open it on the Strip, and it’s Sin City, and you know how sweets are a sinful treat…so I was planning to name it Sinful.” My other thought was Ava’s Haven, but that seems kind of…lame.
“What about Cookie’s Cookies?” he suggests, and I giggle.
“Cookie’s Cookies? But what if I want to sell cakes, too?”
“Cookie’s Cookies and Cakes.” He holds his hands out as if that’s the solution, and to be honest…it’s kind of cute. Or maybe he is kind of cute, and I am kind of delusional.
“Considering I’m stuck working for someone else, I guess I have more time to dream about what the name of my future bakery is going to be.” I shrug. “What about you? You’re new to town, right?” I realize my mistake a moment too late, giving myself away as knowing who he is when I was trying to play it cool.
He narrows his eyes at me. “You know who I am?”
“You’re all over the news.” I shrug. “And when we walked in here, my friends went bananas that there were football players here. And, you know, Big Boobs over there said your name.”
He chuckles at my assessment of the woman trying to hit on him. “Your friends did?” He leans in a little closer. So close. Too close. I can smell him, and…yeah. That clean, woodsy scent does things to me.
Whoa.
I feel a little dizzy as I breathe him in and feel his heat so close to me.
I take a sip of my vodka cranberry to force a little cool liquid onto my tongue.
I haven’t flirted with anybody in…well, probably close to five years. I’m not sure how to do it anymore, especially not with the man standing in front of me. My ex of five minutes wasn’t really the flirty type, so I haven’t exercised these muscles in a while.
“Yeah,” I say. “My friends. Want to meet them?”
He chuckles. “Eventually, maybe. But right now, I’m most interested in meeting you.”
“Me?” I squeak as I die inside a little.
“You,” he confirms with a nod. His blue eyes search mine, and he runs a hand through the hair that’s a little longish on top as he looks away for a beat.
He could have any woman here in this bar. They’re all clamoring to talk to him, anyway—as already evidenced by the woman who walked up to us.
But he’s talking to me.
