Page 16 of That Kind of Guy

“What movie is this?” I whispered, reaching over and taking a handful of her popcorn.

She slapped my hand away. “What are you doing?” she whispered back. “Here to convince me to vote for Emmett Rhodes?” She snorted. “Desperate,” she mocked in a sing-song whisper.

I tilted my head at her. “You don’t like me, do you?”

She gave me a look out of the corner of her eye and turned back to the screen. “No.”

“What are you doing tonight?”

She gave me anare you seriouslook. “Really? Oh my god, this is so sad. This is beneath you.”

“What?” I asked with a frown.

“Asking women out in order to garner votes? Don’t you think that’s going to catch up with you?”

A laugh choked out of my throat. “That isnotwhat I’m doing here.”

“Oh, really?” She put on a low voice and jutted her jaw out. “I was looking for you, Avery. What are you doing tonight, Avery? Let me just cross my arms so my biceps pop out.”

A huge grin spread across my face, and I looked down at my bicep and flexed. “Thanks for noticing all my hard work at the gym. Is that what I sound like?”

Someone shushed us.

“I’m very busy,” she whispered. “Please leave.”

“I know how you can buy the restaurant.”

Her expression changed, and that sweet feeling of satisfaction settled in my chest.

“What are you talking about?” She watched me carefully, chewing her lip.

Someone shushed us again.

“Harold, you’ve seen this movie six times!” Avery called over her shoulder. She turned back to me. “What are you talking about?” she whispered again.

I gave her my most charming smile. I wasn’t going to tell her yet. Marketing 101 taught me people don’t want to give up what they already have. That’s why free trials were so effective. I would let Avery mull all afternoon about the possibility of having her restaurant, and by this evening, she wouldn’t want to give it up, so she’d accept my deal.

“Do you remember where I live?” I asked.

She frowned. “Emmett. What are you talking about?”

I stood. “Seven o’clock.”

“Just tell me now,” she hissed after me as I walked out.

“Seven o’clock,” I repeated over my shoulder. “Don’t eat before.”

Outside, I caught my reflection in the glass, and smiled to myself. I was a genius. A handsome, goddamn genius.

* * *

There wasa knock on the door as I filled a pot with water to boil the linguine.

“Come on in, Adams,” I called and placed the pot on the stove.

“Adams?” my brother Holden asked, walking into the kitchen.

I turned and frowned. “You can’t stay. I have a thing.” He didn’t need to know the details.

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