Page 3 of In the Net
“That … thing you’re doing with your eyes. And your lips. And your voice. Stop it.”
His mouth twitches, his eyebrows wiggling. “This is just how I’d look at any girl I was on a date with. Trust me, this is a hardship. You think I’m enjoying it?”
“You can tone down the acting. Mackenzie already bought it.”
Sebastian leans back, and his face reverts to its usual expression. Still smug and arrogant, but at least he doesn’t look like he’s posing for a Valentine’s Day calendar anymore.
“So, who stood you up?” he asks.
“Just this guy from a dating app,” I sigh.
Sebastian chuckles. “Dating app? Getting desperate, are we?”
I lower my brow at him. He’s not wrong. Once this embarrassing incident is over with, I still have to wade through the muck trying to find someone acceptable to take to my cousin Sofia’s wedding in November.
“As if you don’t use them. I know there’s no way you could resist an extra source of attention.”
“Nah, not my style. I get more than enough attention in person. In fact, I was just walking by when I glanced through the door and made eye contact with the cute bartender over there. Her eyes practically begged me to walk in and flirt with her. And, well, you know my generous and giving nature. I couldn’t resist.”
“I guess that isn’t surprising. There’s a rumor going around that you’ve made out with every female bartender in town.”
“Hey, don’t believe every rumor you hear about me,” he says.
“Why? Because they’re not true.”
He grins. “Because they usually are.”
I sigh. “Well, I guess I should thank you for giving up another notch in your belt and coming to my rescue.”
He shrugs. “Don’t mention it. The prospect of watching you founder for minutes while your cousin grills you about why you’re here alone was just too painful.”
“Flounder,” I correct.
Sebastian quirks an eyebrow. “Huh?”
“The word you’re looking for is flounder. To squirm or struggle for an extended period of time. Founder means for something to sink, or for a plan to fail all at once.”
Something sharpens in Sebastian’s blue eyes. An annoyance at himself for being caught making a linguistic mistake, combined with a begrudging respect that I was able to catch him in it. It’s a look I’ve seen from him way more than once.
A waitress comes to our table. When I got here, I told her I’d hold off on ordering a drink until the person I was waiting for arrived, so Sebastian sitting down across from me must have been her cue to come over.
“What can I get you two?”
“What’s the strongest thing available?” I ask, feeling the need for liquid reinforcement.
“Right here,” Sebastian quips, throwing up his right arm in another flex.
I drill him with a nonplussed expression while the waitress can’t help but let her eyes tick to the slab of muscle bulging on Sebastian’s arm; she clearly can’t stop a pink blush from sweeping across her cheeks, either.
She laughs. “The Whiskey Washout is pretty strong, most people say too strong, but?—”
“I’ll take it.”
“Just a Coke for me,” Sebastian says to the waitress. “I’m watching my figure.”
Our waitress jots down our order and heads back to the bar, but not before giving her eyes a second to sweep over Sebastian,watching his figureherself.
“How many times have you flexed today, anyway?”
