Page 10 of Who's Your Daddy?

He raises an eyebrow. “And what makes you think that you’re even my type?”

“You’ve literally told me in four different ways that you find me attractive. I think I’m your type.”

“Can’t argue with that.” He grins, and I have to clamp down my back pocket so my love doesn’t spill over again. How is it possible that he is so good-looking, yet so obnoxious? “How would I approach you? Hm?” He taps his finger against his lips as he thinks it over. “It would depend.”

“On what?”

“Well, it depends on whether I wanted to sleep with you today...or tomorrow...hypothetically, of course.”

Blatant shock causes my mouth to drop open. Is this guy for real? Did he just say that? My lips part to throw back a scathing retaliation, but my brain seems to be malfunctioning because I can’t formulate a response. I take a few seconds to collect myself. Just when I thought he wasn’t that bad. Just when I thought maybe I’d judged him too soon, he goes and says something like that.

I look around to make sure no one eavesdropped on his last sentence and lower my voice so only he can hear my response. “I...I wouldn’t...I wouldn’tsleepwith you.” My mortification is carried in every stammered syllable. “Not today or tomorrow.”

“Yeah, you would.”

A mixture of astonishment and indignation instantly spikes my heart rate. He’s got some nerve. If I had pearls, I’d be clutching onto them for dear life right now. “Iwouldn’t! I find you repulsive.”

“Yet equally intriguing.” He says it with the confidence of a man who has never experienced rejection before.

“Listen, I’m sure a guy like you, who holds incredibly high stature in the world of degenerate fuckboys, probably thinks that every woman is going to fall at your feet and cater to your every whim. But I’m different. I’m not like every other girl you screw.”

“You saying that makes youexactlylike every other girl I screw. It all starts off the same. I hear things like...” He increases the pitch of his voice to sound more feminine. “I’m demure. I’m sweet. I’m not the type to have a one-night stand.” He takes a sip of his coffee and switches back to his normal voice. “But that’s not how the night ends. The night ends with her on top of me doing things that are neither sweet nor demure.”

The temperature of my blood is reaching boiling point. My face contorts with disgust, and once again, I have to swallow my shock. I don’t have much experience with men, but I’m pretty sure that even if I lived a thousand lifetimes, I would never meet anyone as offensive as him. And this is coming from someone who just got dumped by a married man that was essentially using me as a high-class hooker.

“Are you purposely trying to rile me up, or are you genuinely this misogynistic?”

“I’m not misogynistic. Ilovewomen.”

That statement is met with a disapproving snort from me. “Whatever. You are definitely the type of guy who just uses women for sex, then dumps them the next day. I don’t think you respect women at all.”

“Useis such a harsh word. Using someone is like...it’s like when you kiss a total stranger just to enrage your father.That’susing someone.” A haughty smile quirks his lips up because he just effortlessly highlighted my hypocrisy. “What I do is mutually beneficial for both parties. And of course, I respect women. They’re deities, perfect beings with cosmic beauty, far superior to men in every way...but they’re full of shit, and I have a low tolerance for drama, which is why I keep all interactions to a minimum. One night is more than enough.”

I take a long sip of my latte and let out a slow breath, simultaneously releasing the hope that he might actually be a decent human being. “You sound like you studied at Andrew Tate’s Hustler’s University for three years.”

“I graduated top of my class,” he quips. “I’m a renowned professor there now.”

“I bet. I’m sure you majored in whoreographics and aced fuckboyology.”

“I feel like you’re making very disparaging assumptions about me.” He places his hand over his chest as if my comment offended him. “You’re labeling me without even really knowing me.”

“I’m not making assumptions. You’re an open book. Here, let me prove it to you.” I finish my latte, then lean back in my chair. “Do you avoid commitment at all costs?”

“Yes.”

“Do you often hook up with women you barely know?”

“Yes, but?”

“Do you often tell those women that you’ll call them the next day when you have no intention of calling them...ever?”

“That may be a slight mischaracterization of?”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” My shoulders lift in an arrogant shrug because my point was so easy to prove. “And there you have it. That’s classic fuckboy behavior. And you look the part, too. Your clothes are pressed and pristine, yet you still look approachable and casual. You’re well-groomed. You’re super good-looking. You’re arrogant and egotistical. You’re basically the textbook definition of a fuckboy.”

“Textbook definition? Then it must be true. And after all that solid scientific evidence you just presented, I’m very inclined to agree with you.” He leans forward to cross his arms over the table. After staring at me for a moment too long, that haughty smile quirks his lips up once more. “But I want to circle back to the part about you thinking I’m super good-looking.”

Shit, did I admit that out loud?“You misinterpreted. I meantyouthink you’re super good-looking.”Nice save.

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