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“I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.”
“Or you could come to a game with me,” he suggests.
“I think I’ll pass.” I try to sound completely uninterested, when in truth, the way he described it didn’t sound half bad.
You hate him. You hate him. You hate him.
He opens his mouth, clearly prepared to say something else, when the waitress appears, cutting him off.
We decide on ordering two different flavors of boneless wings and a pitcher of beer for the table. As weird as it feels being here with Harris, I can’t deny that it’s kind of exciting, too. I don’t know what it is about this man. As weird as it sounds, I’ve never disliked someone so much, yet liked them at the same time. He’s grown on me a little over the past few days and it’s as infuriating as it is confusing.
“So, do you come here often?” I ask, a lame attempt at making casual conversation.
“At least once every couple of weeks. This is one of my favorite spots. I like the laid-back atmosphere.”
“Yeah.” I shift in my seat, the booth creaking under the movement.
God, why am I suddenly so nervous? I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans, trying to act as normal as possible. Not that I know what normal is around this guy.
Where the hell is the waitress with the beer?
As if my thoughts manifest themselves, the waitress appears, setting a pitcher of beer and two frosted mugs on the table in front of us.
Harris pours us each a glass before relaxing back in his seat, running a hand through his hair as he lifts the glass to his lips.
He looks so good that when I pick up my glass, I empty half the contents in one long drink, trying to cool the sudden heat that seems to be crawling up my neck.
Harris chuckles, his eyes going from me to my glass and then back to me.
“Thirsty?” he asks, trying to suppress a smile.
“Very.” I lift the glass to my lips and take another long drink.
“Are you one of those women that gets drunk off one beer?”
“Is that your way of asking me if I’m a cheap date, Mr. Avery?” I challenge, resting my glass on the table in front of me, the beer already warming me from the inside out.
“Are you?” He lifts a brow.
“Stick around and find out,” I tell him, finishing off my beer in one more long pull before quickly refilling it.
I may not be a huge drinker, but I can usually hold my liquor pretty well. I can count how many times I’ve been sick from drinking on one finger, because it’s only happened once. And that was nearly three years ago. The night I caught James making out with a woman that wasn’t me. Let’s just say tequila was my friend that night, or my enemy depending on how you look at it.
“Oh, I’m not going anywhere.” Harris pulls me from my thoughts before the memory gets a hold of me. He leans forward, placing his elbows on the table. “In fact, I feel a little wager coming on.” The way he’s looking at me causes me to shift in my seat again.
“If you’re going to bet me that you can drink me under the table, don’t waste your breath. I already know you’d win.” That and I have absolutely no desire to get drunk with Harris. A buzz to relieve some tension and nerves is fine. But drunk, hell no. I wish I could say it’s because I don’t trust him, but if I’m being honest, I think it’s me I don’t trust.
“Oh no, I’ve got something much more interesting in mind.” His smile turns wicked, causing a flurry of butterflies to erupt in my stomach.
Uh oh...
