Page 73 of The Guy Who Fake Dated Me

“Of course I like jokes.”

“You rarely show that.”

His expression darkened. “I know.”

My gaze drifted to Logan again, and this time he was frowning.

William guessed at my distraction. “Is my sister harassing Logan?”

“Not sure.” Logan still hadn’t told me more than the two-sentence version of their relationship. I suddenly realized I had someone right in front of me that may be willing to shed some light on the matter. I returned my attention to William. “Do you know what happened between them?”

“I do.”

“And?”

A look of pity settled on his face as he turned us in a different direction. “My sister hurt him. I’d rather not say any more than that, because it’s not my story to tell.”

I sighed. “You’re probably right. I just worry about Logan.”

“You should. Courtney likes to toy with men, and it never ends well for them. She’s been eyeing Logan since he got here, and I’m not sure what her agenda is.”

I made a mental note to make sure Logan was really okay after this dance.

We stared at each other for a few seconds. It wasn’t intimate, like with Logan and me, but I did feel something for this man. Was it friendship? Or the desire to get to know him better because I found him fascinating? Or was it my need to help the outcasts? I’d never thought that someone who could probably swim in their own money could feel alone. I decided to focus on his inquiry. “Are you asking me how you find a good woman?”

He let out a small, frustrated snort. “Partially, but I also wish to know what a woman like you looks for in a man.”

“It’s different for everyone.” His eyebrows furrowed. “But I can tell you for sure that most women are looking for who you really are.” I could feel his sincerity and wanted to help. I squeezed his hand. “Who are you, William? Under that billionaire businessman from the east coast, who are you?”

He shook his head. “I’m not sure I know.”

“Let’s try some simple get-to-know-you questions.”

William looked pained. “I’m not good at those.”

“Time for some practice.”

“You don’t have to do this.” His gaze fell to the floor.

“We still have at least a minute of this song, may as well use it to our advantage.” I tilted my head until I caught his attention. When he met my eyes, I said, “What’s your favorite color?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it.

“This isn’t written in stone. Go with your gut.”

“Purple.”

“Pastel or royal?”

“Royal.”

“Nice. And just so you don’t feel like you’re getting grilled, mine is pink.”

“Unsurprising,” he said.

“I’m not a complicated girl.”

“I disagree.”

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