Page 57 of The Problem with Dating

Her high cheeks rose higher as she grew bashful. I liked that about her. I appreciated it when she got shy. It was one of the cutest things she did. And she did a lot of cute crap.

Fuck me. Why was I noticing her cute stuff?

“Besides”—I stepped closer to her and smirked as I leaned in toward her ear—“I don’t like easy women. I like the complex ones.”

“Oh my goodness,” she whispered through her slightly parted, plump lips. She playfully shoved my chest. “You totally have a crush on me!”

I stood straight and smoothed my hands over my chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She kept swatting my chest. “You do! You have the hots for me.” She struck a pose. “Is it because of my witty charm? My wicked sense of humor? My undeniable beauty?”

Yes.

And yes.

And absolutely yes.

“Let’s get you to bed,” I said, linking my arm with hers once more. “You’re drunk and tired.”

“You totally like me.” She giggled like a schoolgirl, pleased she came to the realization on her own. As we walked, she slightly danced from side to side, humming to herself before saying, “And to think I thought you hated me only twenty-four hours ago.”

I pushed the button to the elevator, and it opened instantly. As it did, British guy appeared, his eyes wide from seeing both Yara and me.

“Yara. Hi,” he pushed out those two words as if they pained him to say.

Yara and I tilted our heads toward him and arched an eyebrow. In unison, she and I said, “Fuck off,” before pushing past him and entering the elevator as he exited it. Hearing the word ‘fuck’ roll off Yara’s tongue did something to my whole system. Especially in my lower region.

As the door closed, Yara leaned back against the railing as I hit the fifteenth floor. I leaned beside her.

“Can you believe him?” she asked as if she was disgusted, but I saw the hurt in her eyes. “I’m so happy I dodged that bullet. I bet his accent isn’t even real. I’m so happy.” Her words said one thing while her eyes read another. She pretended to be okay. My sweet, complex woman.

My?

WTF?

Shut up, Alex.

I almost debated whether I had any sangria in my system with how my thoughts had been over the past few minutes.

As we entered the apartment, Yara stepped out of my shoes and moved around freely, directly to my bar set up in my kitchen. She grabbed the bottle of whiskey and waved it around in the air.

“I would like to make an observation, if I may,” she said.

“By all means.”

“It turns out I know what the issue is with dating. Do you know what it is?” she asked.

“What’s that?”

“Men,” she blurted out. “That’s it. Penises are the problem!”

I chuckled a little and shook my head. “Women don’t make it easy for us, either.”

She pouted as she stared my way. I wondered how many heads I had floating around in her mind, based on how much alcohol she’d consumed. She then plopped down on the sofa beside the fireplace and stared at me. “Oh yeah. Women can cheat and ghost, too.”

“Unfortunately, yes.” I sat beside her.

“You said someone cheated on you?”

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