Page 114 of American Beauty

“I’m not alone. I’m with my girlfriend.”

She steps in closer, a breath too close, dropping her voice to something she thinks sounds seductive. “That doesn’t mean we can’t have a little fun while you’re here.”

“It does, actually.”

Her grin widens, lazy and cocky. “Can I change your mind?”

“No. Now if you’ll excuse me, my girlfriend’s waiting for me.”

One brow arches high, practiced and sharp. “What are you? Some kind of saint?”

“Not a saint.” I meet her gaze, steady and unbothered. “But I am faithful.”

She studies me for a beat, head tilted. “Not even tempted?”

This is getting old fast. “Not interested. Excuse me.”

A smirk ghosts across her lips—a small, knowing thing.

“See you later,” she tosses over her shoulder before pivoting toward the ladies’ room, hips swinging like she still thinks she’s in the game.

I shake my head once, brushing it off. Don’t know what that was about. Don’t care.

I’ve got bigger things to focus on tonight.

Magnolia’s scrolling through her phone when I return to the table, glancing up as I slide onto the stool beside her.

“Everything okay?”

“All good.” I lift my drink, taking a slow sip.

“You were gone a while.”

I debate telling her about the woman—and then decide it might be fun to see her reaction.

“It’s nothing. Just some woman trying to hit on me. Wouldn’t take the hint.”

Magnolia’s brows arch. “Oh?”

“Happens all the time.”

She grins. “Does it now?”

I shrug. “This one was a ‘love your accent’ type.”

She props her elbow on the table, resting her chin in her hand, eyes glinting with amusement. “I seem to recall being one of those ‘love your accent’ types.”

I tip my glass toward her. “Yeah, but it was different coming from you.”

She hums like she’s giving it serious thought. “Right. Because I was classy about it?”

I arch a brow. “You told me my accent made you want to climb me like a tree.”

Her grin is wicked, unapologetic. “I don’t remember saying that, but I do like to climb you like a tree, so––”

I huff a quiet laugh and take a sip of my drink. “Where’s your girl?”

“Right here,” says a voice behind me.

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