Page 59 of How to Win the Girl

I give her an appreciative glance.

Tight jeans up over her waist. Tucked in black tee shirt.

Long, brown hair down. Wavy.

Huge hoop earrings.

Casual but sexy. Trying but not too hard. Flawless but a bit chaotic.

Dang, Daisy.

My chest stirs when she smiles, a sassy crooked hello when she stops in the center of the place, pointing at the bar.

“Bar or a booth?”

Huh?

“Do you want to sit at the bar or in a booth?”

Oh.

Right.

Drew would sit in a booth. I’d rather sit at the bar—but this isn’t about me now, is it?

“A booth is good.”

Daisy plops down in the nearest one, scooting to the center, the whole thing swallowing her whole.

I join her.

I immediately question the wisdom of bringing her to a bar, rather than, say—to the park or roller blading or rock climbing but then again, I am not my brother.

What do I know about what makes a good first date? I haven’t had a real one in years. Banging after a party doesn’t count, and parties don’t count, period.

A server comes and takes our drink order.

“Can we get an order of wings, too, right away? And onion rings? I’m starving.” Daisy looks over at me. “I hope you don’t mind. I haven’t eaten all day, and if I don’t eat something now, I’ll get drunk.”

“Onion rings?” I pull a face. “I take it you’re not plannin’ on makin’ out with me later?”

Shit. Drew never would have said that.

I bite my tongue.

“Um. No,” Daisy says in reply, ordering herself a cocktail and a water. “You’re funny.”

Yup, that’s me. I’m hilarious.

Speaking of making out, I study her face.

Lips.

Hair.

She’s cute—really fucking cute without the baseball hat and the irritated attitude.

Way more relaxed, she takes a drink of water as soon as it’s set down, leaning back and crossing her hands. Longer fingers. Painted nails.

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