Page 11 of Perfect Boy

That is, until she adds, “I’ll just knee you in the balls every time you step on my feet.”

My eyes widen, looking for any sign she’s joking. Except I see none.

And for the next hour, I learn a few simple moves from her. I try not to get distracted by her pretty face or hot body, and that might be a bigger challenge than the dance moves themselves. I step on her toes at least five times, and much to my surprise, she never knees me in the balls. In fact, she’s much more patient about it than I thought she would be.

Once the hour is up, she looks at me. “I think that’s good for day one. But I’ll warn you now: it’s going to get harder. That was stuff I learned when I was six.”

“Thanks for the encouragement,” I say, headed to get my shoes on. “Hey…you busy after this?”

“Gentry, sweetie pie,” she says in a sweet yet somehow threatening tone, “don’t even consider asking me on a date. We talked about this. Not. Happening.”

“We talked about me not sending dick pics,” I say, putting my shoes on. “And it wouldn’t be a date. But let’s face it, Tiny Dancer; we’re going to be working together. A lot. So, we might as well get to know each other a bit.”

“And why would we do that?” she asks, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“To get more comfortable with each other, of course.” I shrug, like I didn’t just pull that out of my ass. “I’m sure the better we know each other, the better our dance will be.”

“That’s not entirely true. Do you think all actors on those cheesy jewelry commercials went to dinner before they acted all stupid with those mushy eyes? I highly doubt it,” she says quickly, popping that hip out. “Also, who says I’ll even like you? We could hang out, and I could find out that you are a complete dick of a human. That for sure wouldn’t help our dance moves because I’d spend the entire routine wanting to punch you for being a piece of shit.”

I stare at her for a minute before deciding to take another approach. “Ryann, I love my mother. I volunteer at the animal shelter downtown once or twice a month. I have a niece and nephew that call me Uncle Watty. I always return my grocery cart. And I hold the door open for people behind me.” I give her a look, telling her to trust me. “I’m not a dick. I swear. Type A to a fault? Yes. Overly competitive with myself? You know it. Do I take hockey way too seriously? Yep.” I hold my arms out. “But I’m not a bad guy. And if you get to know me, you’ll see that.”

“I don’t want to get to know you,” she snaps. “I’ve told you this already.”

“Well, we’re going to be working together. A lot. I want to know you.” I swallow, taking a chance with my next words. “I’d like to be friends even. And before you yell at me, don’t worry; I mean fully clothed friends.”

She continues to examine me, seeming to seek out if I have an ulterior motive. I don’t. At least, I don’t think I do. But I’ll admit, I want to spend more time with her. I find myself intrigued even if she is sassy.

“Fine. I get it. You’re a good boy. You try to do the right thing even if it’s annoying.” She exhales. “But I’m still not sleeping with you. Clear?” Standing a little taller, she tilts her chin in a way to show authority or something. “I’m water—do you hear me? A liquid substance.”

“What the hell does that even mean? You’re water?” I scowl at the clearly crazy girl before me. “I don’t get it. At all.”

“You can’t break me and get to the center. The center being my vagina. A block of concrete could be cracked. Glass? Easily shattered. A rock? Even that could be crushed. But water? No breaking that. And you’re not breaking me down and getting in my pants. So, give it up.”

“That is one weird fucking analogy,” I say, thinking out loud. “But, yeah, for the last time, I get it. I’ll keep my dick in my pants. Jesus Christ. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re trying to convince yourself, not me.”

When she shoots me a glare, I hold my hands up. “I’m joking. Don’t murder me. Now, are you going to let me take you to get something to eat or not? You just ran me ragged, and I’m hungry.”

She stands there, openly considering my offer. And even though I’ve been pretty good at reading people my entire life, I don’t have a clue what she’s going to say.

“Fine. But it’s not a date. I’d even offer to pay for half, but let’s be honest; I’m broke. Besides, the dude should pay. Date or not.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” I say, thankful she’s going to let me pay. I’d feel pretty weird about taking her out if not. I’d also never let her pay her bill when I’m the one who insisted we go out to dinner. But then thinking about her saying she’s broke makes me sad.

I jerk my head toward the exit before taking a few steps toward it. “Now, let’s go. Before I pass out from my blood sugar dropping.”

Reluctantly, she follows me out the door and to my truck. And even though I’d never say it out loud, for fear of scaring her away…I know this is a huge step in getting her to possibly stop hating me.

She’s so set on not having sex with me, but little does she know, I’m looking for more than just a quick hookup when it comes to her.

And someday, I’ll make that clear.

Ryann

“Okay, remind me to never challenge you to a game of pool again,” Watson gripes after I beat him for the second time. Holding the pool stick in one hand, he drags his other down his face. “Wow, I fucking suck. Like, really, really suck.”

It’s kind of cute, how much he’s beating himself up inside. I don’t think a guy like Watson Gentry is used to losing. Yet, when it comes to me, that’s all he’s done tonight.

“What’s the matter, Gentry boy? Don’t like the feeling of being beat by a girrrrl?” I try not to gloat too much, but it’s impossible, so I just continue. “What’s that smell? Oh, it’s you! Because you stink!”

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