Page 27 of Getting Over You

Sue me for wanting to see Gigi with her guard down, if only for one night.

“I’m so happy she’s making friends,” Belinda says to me from the kitchen. She emerges with a nearly overflowing glass of white wine. “Can I get you a drink before you go?”

“No thanks,” I say. “Best if I start at the bar.”

“Not only did I not expect her to make friends,” Gigi’s mother continues, “but I didn’t expect her to attract the interest of a man so…” She eyes me. “Out of her league, if you will. I love my daughter, but you’re—”

“Gigi and I are just friends,” I tell her mother. I shift my weight, scratching uncomfortably at the back of my neck. “She’s a great girl.”

“Between you and me,” Belinda says quietly, “you can do much better. But you know that, I’m sure. Such a charitable man taking my Gigi on a date.”

“Just friends,” I say again, ignoring the tick in my jaw at the way she speaks about Gigi.

I hear a door open. “Sorry,” Gigi says as she takes the steps two at a time, holding a pair of black heels in one hand. “I decided on a different outfit last minute.”

I survey the tan dress she’s wearing, the keyhole opening at her chest, the perfect line of cleavage. “I like it,” I say, my mouth going dry. “Good choice.”

I’m fighting a war with what’s under my zipper the whole drive to the bar. I’m not going to lie—Gigi is hot. She’s spunky. She’s a firecracker, and despite seeming guarded, I feel like she’s different with me, looser. I find myself feeling lighter in her presence, like I’m not under scrutiny. Like whatever knot that is ever-present in my stomach loses its tension, allowing me to relax, to breathe. She doesn’t expect a thing from me because she’s not trying to impress me, and she doesn’t expect me to impress her. She’s unlike any woman I’ve ever met.

And that’s mostly because she has no interest in sleeping with me.

That doesn’t stop me from imagining she’ll give in one day. I know better, though. I know she won’t. It’s better that way. I want to help her find a fling, sure. But Gigi’s the girl who will change her feelings in an instant, and I’d hate to sleep together and then have to remind her that I don’t want anything serious.AfterI’ve done the damage of sleeping with her, I don’t want the burden of smashing her heart into teeny, tiny bits.

“Are you planning on finding someone tonight, too?” Gigi asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

“No,” I tell her. “All you.”

She frowns. “Why? It’s not as fun if I’m the only one tossing pickup lines out and flipping my hair.”

“First of all,” I say, flipping my gaze to her, “I don’t flip my hair when I pick up a woman.”

“You smile at them, then. And youknowwhat smile I mean.”

She’s been paying attention despite her insistence that she’s not interested—fascinating. I tell her this as we pull into the parking lot of the bar.

“I didn’t point that out because I’m interested,” Gigi tells me flatly.

“Because of the tattoos,” I reply. “Right.”

“My sister said the same thing!” she huffs, throwing her body into the back of the seat with a flourish. “God. It’s like saying you don’t like something about somebody is the worst.”

“You told your sister about my tattoos?” I ask. She can see the curiosity sparkling in my eyes, I’m sure, because she waves me off.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she says. “I was telling her about how impossible you are to deal with, how annoyed I am that you are the one helping me find a fling. Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Right,” I say, cutting the engine and pulling out the keys. “Sure. But I’m failing to understand why my tattoos were part of that conversation.”

“Because,” Gigi huffs, “Mollie—my sister—asked why you were… fling material. Qualified to be a fling instructor.”

“You called me a fling instructor?” I say with a laugh.

“What else am I supposed to call you?” she asks, her gaze finally meeting mine.

“Guy who you refuse to sleep with but think is equipped to help you find someone else to sleep with because he’s usually the guy girls want to sleep with?”

“That’s too long,” she decides. “I like fling instructor better.”

“I’m still wondering where my tattoos come in.”

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