Page 148 of How to Win the Girl

“You know,” she says. “A pastry? Like a cheese Danish or donut?”

“What’s so cute about it?”

She shrugs, setting her batting helmet on the rack and hanging the bat. I follow suit.

“It’s just something I like to say.”

Oh. “Alright.” I jingle the keys to my truck. “Meet you there in a few.”

She gives me a small wave when we go our separate ways, and I can’t help watching her walk across the parking lot at the batting cage park; there are several volleyball courts too, and a bowling alley. The place is a hot spot in the warmer months, and I’m no stranger to getting out in the summer sun and hitting balls around, whether it’s a baseball or a volleyball or a bowling ball.

I love sports.

They’re the only thing I seem to be good at.

I’m not a scientist like my brother is. I can’t imagine myself doing anything else, but Drew seems to have other plans for himself that don’t include me or football. He hasn’t come out and said he wants out, but that’s the feeling I get. I feel it.

Lately, Drew is a vibe.

I follow Daisy to the same café where we had breakfast last week the morning she proposed this hokey five-date rule, which in all honesty seems to be working out in my favor.

The dates have been fun. Not at all a chore.

I have barely thought about sex at all—not that that is the reason I’m hanging out with her. She was wrong about that. But just because I’m not dating her to have regular sex with someone—something I can do with anyone, if I’m being honest—doesn’t mean I don’t think about banging her.

I’m a hot-blooded guy.

Adrenaline pumps through my veins the way gasoline pumps through my truck.

We’re at the same table.

This time when I enter the café, I feel people staring, their eyes locking on the hand I have at the small of Daisy’s lower back. I guide her to the table in the corner all gentlemanly and shit, pulling out her chair and everything.

Pat myself on the back, I’m proud of myself for remembering.

I’m hella rusty.

Daisy already knows what she wants when the server pops over, but I have to run my eyes over the menu first, letting her order her hot chocolate and cherry popover—which sounds delicious and which I’ll undoubtedly steal bites from.

I settle on: Irish coffee. Banana bread.

“This is a cute place, isn’t it?” Daisy asks once the server walks off with our menus and orders, hands folded daintily in front of her and resting on the table—a stark contrast to the girl who said“Mother effer, dammit all to hell!” before throwing her bat into the dirt at the batting cage.

Like a savage.

Like a dude.

“Super cute.”

Daisy smiles, grinning at me when the hot chocolate and Irish coffee are set in front of us, licking whipped cream off the top with the tip of her tongue.

It darts out again to lick the dripping mocha spilling out of the side, and I can’t help but wonder if she’s doing it on purpose—to torment me. Torture me with your tongue…

Okay fine.

I’m thinking like a horny bastard—I can’t help it. I haven’t had sex in literal weeks, something that isn’t normal for me, awkward as that is to admit. I’m not even dating anyone—Shannon doesn’t count—but that wasn’t stopping me from getting laid regularly.

Daisy isn’t overtly sexy.

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