Page 25 of Force a Date

“What’s up with you?” I ask, stealing a glance down the way to find some blond-headed little fucker staring at her. He’s the one who probably bought her the drink and would have no problem taking her home right now. “Go talk to him if you want.”

“Nah,” she says, not bothering to see who I’m fucking talking about. “We should do something to drive in some more sales.”

My brows cave. “Huh?”

“At Rapture Ink. I’m pretty serious about the bake sale.”

My eyes narrow because…what? “Are you seriously wanting to talk about work right now?”

“What else would we talk about?”

I pull at the beer currently in my palm, taking a giant swig and barely tasting the damn thing.

I don’t get her.

I thought I had her pegged but the more she opens her mouth, the more I think I pegged her all wrong.

“Beats the shit out of me, I guess. We’re on two different playing fields.”

Liv glances over at me. “What does that mean?”

“It means, I’ve been around the block. And you’re still trying to get on your bicycle to get there.”

Liv rolls those pretty little blue eyes as she leans back in her high-top chair, causing her tits to arch seductively without meaning to. “Are we back on the age thing?”

“We’re not back on it, it’s just simple facts.”

“You’re not sellin’ yourself here when you keep acting like you had Alzheimer's with how you don’t remember having the same conversation with the same results.”

“Cute.”

“Aren’t you the one that’s supposed to say age is just a number?”

“Not to an eighteen-year-old.”

I feel the heat from her eyes slitting. “Are you suffering from memory loss? Did you take your medication before we left the cabin?”

“Don’t take medication.”

“You should,” she replies confidently as if it has to be some sort of old person problem. “Unless you’re having a midlife crisis or something. Listen, it’s okay to be a middle-aged man who wants to relive his teenage years.”

She touches my forearm and leaves it there, causing a block of fire to form in my veins.

Liv isn’t trying to flirt with me. She’s trying to make a point like an asshole.

“If I wanted to relive them I’d just go listen to Slipknot in my room and lock the door.”

“I knew you were an emo kid.” Her hand moves to cup her chin before her index finger comes down to play with her bottom lip, tugging it down just so. “I can see you as one.”

“Metal kid.”

“Even more believable. Did you hate blondes? Did you only date girls with inky black hair and dark eyeliner smudged all around their eyes?”

“No, I always liked blondes,” I divulge truthfully. “I dated two cheerleaders and a bunch of nerdy ones with glasses and big tits.”

“Bullshit.”

“I did.”

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