Page 6 of Texting My Valentine

She purses her lips at me. “Now, why would you want to ruin the fun, hmm? You should ask to buy me some shots.Thatwould be more fun.”

Truth be told, I’m not interested in having fun with this woman. But I promised Julian I’d make an effort. I’m fairly certain this type of so-called fun will never appeal to me, but it’s Valentine’s. Maybe I need an open mind as well as an open heart.

“Sure, what are you drinking?”

“Sambuca.”

Disgusting. “Delicious,” I say.

I order a round of shots and carry them over to Julian’s table. He cheers and claps his hands together like I’ve just discovered the cure for cancer. I resist the almost overwhelming urge to roll my eyes at him.

“I saw that,” Belle says after we all drink our shots.

“Saw what?”

Julian chuckles. “She saw you toss it over your shoulder, smartass. Stop being so stubbornly sober. You’re going to make me order some more.”

“I don’t think I could handle another.”

Tinker giggles. “But you didn’t drink it.”

“What’s with the names?”

I mean for the question to come out in a joking tone, but judging from the look the girls exchange, I sound like an aggressive asshole.

“Well,” Belle says. “We made a pact tonight. No names. No connections. Just fun.”

“You’re kidding,” Julian says. “We made the same pact. But aren’t you here for the texting event?”

“Who needs to text when we’ve got the real thing, huh?” Belle puts her hand on Julian’s arm.

When Tinker tries to touch me, I lean away. It’s rude, maybe, but I don’t want to be touched. Julian frowns at me.

Dammit. What is he expecting? I’m not going to throw myself at her. The last thing I want to do is drag her into the bathroom and have some seedy, quick, meaningless sex, which is probably what he’s planning to do.

Sometimes, it’s difficult to know if I’m the crazy one or if everybody else is.

“What do you do?” Belle asks Julian.

As Julian talks about his work—something he always enjoys—I look across the bar.

Three women are approaching the bar. One is tall, blonde, and dressed modestly. The other is a redhead, dressed anything but. It’s the one in the middle who interests me, though.

Isinteresta strong enough word?

She’s got soft, light brown hair, somewhat tamed but with a hint of wildness that immediately ignites my interest. Unlike most other women here, she doesn’t wear a dress. She wears a sparkly black top with tight hip-hugging jeans emphasizing her curvy figure.

There’s something about her smile. Small, almost judgmental. It’s as if she feels just as out of place as I do here. Her red-haired friend throws an arm around her, saying something in her ear over the loud noise in the bar.

“Hey.”

I flinch when Tinker puts her hand on my arm.

She looks upset. Irrationally, she reminds me of Elliot and the dejected look he sometimes gets when I tell him I’m too busy to build a LEGO set with him.

“What’s up?”

“I asked what your job is, but if you’re too busy ogling somebody else, maybe I won’t even bother trying to make conversation.”

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