Page 28 of Getting Over You

“Cade,” Gigi deadpans. She’s looking at me with that twinkle she gets in her eyes. “Really.”

“Really,” I say. “Enlighten me.”

“Because you’re hot,” Gigi says, all business. “To the majority of the female population, anyway.”

“You think I’m hot?” I say, my eyebrow arching and pulling the corner of my lip with it.

“Well,” she rips her pretty blue eyes away from me, “I would, if it wasn’t for that damn attitude.”

When we pull into the parking lot behind Murphy’s, Gigi looks worried.

She’s chewing on her lip, her eyes darting around like an animal that’s trapped and looking for an escape.

“Hey,” I say, placing a hand on her thigh after I cut the engine. “You okay?”

She nods. “So okay.”

“Nervous?”

Her eyes dart around again. “No,” she says, quick.

“You have no reason to be,” I promise. “You look good. Any guy would be happy to go home with you tonight.”

The bar is packed, save for a few empty seats in front of the bartender and a smattering of empty tables. Crowds gather around two dart boards, smoke thick in the air as the noise grows louder.

“I can’t believe,” Gigi says as she weaves her way through the bar and finds us a spot dead center with two stools, “that you do this for fun. I consider myself outgoing, but—”

She looks around, surveying the signage, the neon decorative lights above the bar, and the rambunctious crowd to our backs. She winces as her stool groans under her weight.

“What you need to do,” I say as I wave the bartender over, “is relax.”

“I am relaxed,” she fires back. “I’m so relaxed.”

“Uh huh.” I order us two lemon drop shots. It’s not my favorite—too sweet, usually—but it’s what I’ll buy a girl if I don’t know her preference.

Gigi looks at a water spot on the counter in front of her. “What if I don’t find anyone?” she asks.

“Then you chalk it up to a bad crowd and try again tomorrow night,” I say. “I mean, if you want.” She frowns. “What? What is it?”

“I just have a feeling no one will be interested,” she says softly. I can barely hear her over the noise of the bar.

“Here,” I say, picking up our shot glasses as they arrive. I hand one over to her and hold mine up. “To going home with someone tonight,” I say. Gigi scowls. “To going home with a guy without commitment issues?” I supply.

She rolls those blue eyes. “Better,” she decides. “To that. Sure.”

We clink our glasses, and I down my shot, throwing my head back and slamming the glass down. I don’t like to see Gigi lacking confidence in the way she is now. She sounds so sure of herself when she speaks to me. I want everyone—even the guy she’ll go home with tonight—to see that same Gigi.

“I need another one of those,” Gigi says. “Can I get another one of those? I need another one.”

“Of course, princess,” I say. “Tonight is your night.” I flag the bartender over again.

“Cade.”

“Don’t I know you well enough to call you by a nickname?” I ask.

She waits for the bartender to pour her shot and hand it over. “No,” she says, stern, and then tips her head back, taking the shot like a champ. “Another?”

“That’s my girl,” I say, smiling.

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