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No fake charm offensive.

Just that big body planted in front of me and those steady eyes saying he’s serious.

Infuriating.

I exhale slowly.

“You are a terrible idea.”

His grin flashes like sunlight off a helmet.

“Absolutely.”

I point at him.

“That is not persuasive.”

“It’s honest.”

There’s that word again.

Honest.

The last few days have been disgusting with honesty.

Maybe that’s why I don’t immediately run.

I shift my bag higher on my shoulder and give him my most skeptical pageant-queen death stare.

“I’m not saying yes.”

“Yet.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

I narrow my eyes harder.

He starts walking backward, still facing me, still grinning like the overgrown menace he is.

“Think about it, Texas.”

I should let him go.

Instead I call after him, “If I say yes, you are never calling me baby again.”

He keeps walking.

“Deal.”

A beat.

Then, over his shoulder:

“Sweetheart.”

I actually laugh.