Page 22 of Bad Call

Casey shook his head in disbelief. “You’re a walking red flag.”

I just laughed. “You’re not the first person to pointthat out.”

“It’s guys like you who make guys like me give fake names when they hook up.”

“You know what I think?” I picked up my soda and took a long, noisy sip from the straw. “I think I’m just your brand of crazy.”

“You’re definitely crazy,” Casey agreed.

But in the end, he stayed. And that spoke volumes, without actually saying a word.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CASEY

Leaning back in my chair,I assessed Baylor. He sipped loudly from his straw, completely oblivious to his lack of manners. He was loud, abrasive, and rough around the edges. He was basically a frat boy in a man’s body. He could be charming, I’d give him that, but also incredibly infuriating. Did he really think I treated him badly? Like gum stuck to my cleat? Maybe I did. Maybe that was the draw between us, the tension, the challenge, the unexplainable attraction and pull I felt toward a man I seemingly disliked.

He said he enjoyed it. Maybe I did too.

Great, nowIsounded like a walking red flag.

Was Baylor Buchanan really my brand of crazy?

Fuck me, I think he was.

I didn’t even want to know what that said about me.

Baylor regarded me with interest. “So, you finished your degree at U of O Mapleview? What’d you majorin?”

“How’d you know that?”

“Wild guess?” he lied.

“Sports management.”

“Oh, nice. You knew what you wanted from the start, huh?”

Leaning across the table, I pegged him with a hard look. “I always know what I want, Baylor.”

He shivered, his body moving in a way that proved my words hit their mark. God, I loved having that effect on him. It gave me a rush of power, of control, that hardened my cock. Just like my humiliation hardened his.

It seemed we might just be a perfect match.

In bed, that was. Out of bed… not so much. Not at all, really.

Baylor ordered a smothered pork chop, and I ordered a filet. We argued about the best way to cook a steak, pork versus beef, loaded or plain baked potatoes, the best dressing on a salad, and ultimately, the perfect dessert—chocolate or fruit, savory or sweet, mousse or cream. We couldn’t agree on a single thing.

The waitress dropped the check on the table, not knowing which of us to hand it to. We both stared at it like it was a snake poised to strike.

Baylor scoffed. “If you’re waiting for me to reach for it, don’t hold your breath.”

“This was your idea. You invited me to stay and eat with you!”

“What’s your point?”

No. Hell no. Sometimes you had to pick your battles, and this was a fight I was determinedto win. “You thought you were meeting a woman. Would you have asked her to pay?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. There’s nothing wrong with asking a woman to go Dutch. They like their independence.”

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