“I don’t do the apps, either.”
That surprised her. But then again, he’d never be standing here with her if he did. With the face and the muscles and the nice-guy veneer, he could have been getting a half-decent blow job instead of shooting his shot with her. “Why not? You’d do well.”
Although she’d hoped she’d kept her voice neutral enough that he wouldn’t take her genuine desire to know why he wasn’t on Tinder as a compliment, he totally did. “Are you saying I’m handsome, Hannah?”
She really liked the way her name sounded coming out of his mouth. Way too much for her own good. “You know what you look like, Jack.”
The audacity of his wink had her fighting to keep from smiling at him. Even if he wasn’t a total jerk, there wasn’t room for both her and his easily stroked ego in this dank basement meat market. She drained her drink and put the glass on the bar. Reaching inside her purse, she pulled out a twenty and held it out to him.
“What’s that?”
“For the drink.”
“The drink was an apology.”
“But that apology came with strings.”
“No strings.”
Then she did roll her eyes. “You’re wasting your time.”
“I don’t see it as a waste.”
She’d just bet he didn’t. He liked that she was a challenge. “We’re not going to”—she lowered her voice and leaned into him—“you know, do it.”
He choked on his cocktail, and she barely fought the desire to bump his back until his windpipe cleared. Let him drown in his old-fashioned. If he died ignominiously, she wouldn’t have to think about him tomorrow or next week and wonder if he wasn’t a shithead of the same brand as every other man in this city.
Unfortunately for future Hannah, he caught his breath. “I never asked you for sex.”
Her cheeks flushed. Maybe he really was just apologizing. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” His hand cupped her upper arm, good humor back on his face. “I’m flattered that you were thinking about getting naked with me.”
“I wasn’t.” She shook her head and looked down at her shoes. The gray moccasins she’d thrown on after the last of the Lurie Children’s Hospital people had left the event she’d thrown today for some local NFL players who had wanted to give a whole boatload of money to kids with cancer. They were terribly ugly, but her feet would have fallen off had she kept her heels on for ten more seconds. “I didn’t think about that at all.”
“I must be losing my touch, then.” He wasn’t. One smile and he’d melted part of her shell. A touch on her arm burned her skin through her dress. “I just wanted to apologize and share a drink with someone not staring at their phone.”
“Oh.” He couldn’t seem to stop surprising her.
“But I was definitely thinking that I’d be lucky to get naked time with someone like you.”
There it was. Jack was lethally sexy, dangerous to her equilibrium. The flutter in her lower belly just from being near him would lay waste to her inner peace, such as it was.
“I don’t do that, either.” Part of her hoped that he would argue with her. Try to convince her. She waited a beat for him to respond. When he didn’t, she adjusted her over-the-shoulder bag and shifted away from him. “I’ve got to go.”
He swigged back the rest of his drink and winced. It was kind of adorable on him—this totally gorgeous, seemingly self-contained man not used to the burn of bourbon in his throat. The contrast between his manly appearance and that slight show of weakness attracted her even more. Her hesitation at this point was pure self-preservation.
“I’ll walk you out.”
“There’s really no need.”
He took her arm again, and she was sorely tempted to shake him off and maybe stomp on his foot. She was just about to, she swore, when he said, “There’s a taco truck outside, and my stomach will hate me tomorrow if I don’t eat something.”
“That many drinks?” No wonder he was flirting with her. In her experience, guys like him did not flirt with women like her unless they were drunk or trying to slake their curiosity about dating a biracial girl.
Like Joe Osborne, the insanely good-looking but profoundly lazy stoner she’d dated sophomore year. He’d been into new experiences in general—mostly drugs, loose women, and never finishing a paper on time—but she’d mistaken his curiosity about her for genuine interest. Too bad that curiosity had never extended to whether she’d enjoyed their hookups. A few dozen orgasms might have made the shocked look on his mother’s face when he’d introduced them over parents’ weekend a little bit worth it.
Since her father had evaporated as soon as the pregnancy test came back positive, and her mother had been busy working to pay for her education, she’d been on her own with Joe’s family. For two days, she was subjected to the I’m Trying to Prove I’m Not Racist variety show. At multiple points, she’d wanted to stop Mr. and Mrs. Osborne from talking about all their black friends and tell them she believed them. But that would have made them even more uncomfortable. Considering their son’s lack of sexual prowess and the fact that he was probably going to flunk out once Hannah stopped pressing send on his papers, she spared them and broke up with Joe as they were driving away.
Which brought her to Jack. He was probably just drunk enough to step outside of his comfort zone to hit on her. Once he sobered up and/or figured out that she was pretty much just like the white girls he dated, only she would make his parents feel weird, she’d never hear from him again.
“Nope.” He bent down close enough that his breath touched her ear when he said, “I just want to spend more time with you. Buy you a taco and see if you’ll give me your number.”
CHAPTER TWO
JACK HAD NO CLUE why he was taking a girl who’d looked at him as though she’d wanted to filet him for half of their half hour of acquaintance out for late-night tacos. Sure, she was beautiful. But he’d had beautiful, and the pretty that came with nice was a whole lot easier to be around. His stupid dick just didn’t like it as well.
He had only a minute to wonder why his penis hated him, while she said goodbye to her friends. Their looks and hand signals amused him, but he was careful not to show it on his face. He stood there trying to look as much like the choirboy he once was as possible. Might have even made the sign of the cross to seem more innocent, but he just knew he needed a little more time with the lovely Hannah and her lovely legs. Maybe he’d say something dumb and she’d roll her eyes at him again. Or flip him off with her black-tipped fingers.