“Well, it doesn’t really matter if he can take care of himself or not because he’ll be there tonight. I thought I should prepare you, considering the simmering—yet somehow sexual—hostility that’s always brewing between you two,” Delilah said.
Wren dug through the narrow drawer she kept all of her cosmetics in. It was a mess, and all she wanted to find was her mascara. “What do you mean, sexual hostility?”
“You two act the same way whenever you’re together. You make a snide remark, he flirts, you roll your eyes, he smiles—and seriously, Wren, when Tate smiles, it’s devastatingly cute—then you say something rude, he implies that he wants to see you naked, you walk away in an irritated huff, and he sneaks looks at you whenever you’re not paying attention.”
Wren went completely still, gripping the edge of the counter. Was Delilah for real? Is that what they did every single time? And he snuck looks at her? She had no idea. “We’re not that bad,” she protested, her voice weak.
“You so are,” Delilah said firmly. “I think you two are hot for each other, but you just don’t want to admit it.”
“I’m not hot for him.” It was an automatic response, denying her attraction to Tate.
Oh God. Was she really attracted to Tate? Or was she crazy?
“Well, I think he’s hot for you. And it’s silly how you keep him at arm’s length.” Delilah’s voice lowered, like she didn’t want Lane to hear her, which was probably the case. “He’s gorgeous, Wren. Like drop-dead, ridiculously good-looking. You should go for it.”
“He’s not my type.”
“He’s everyone’s type. Smart, funny, beyond handsome, and he has a good job. He’s a total catch.”
“Well, I don’t want him. I’d throw that catch right back into the ocean.” Wren winced. She sounded stupid. Typical. Tate rendered her stupid. She didn’t want to talk about him anymore. She’d say something even dumber, and Delilah would totally call her on it. “Let’s change the subject.”
“You’re making lame-ass remarks and want to change the subject. I think that means you’re hot for him.”
Freaking Delilah.
“Stop trying to make a match. It’s not working.” Damn it, it was so working. Delilah was right. Tate was totally her type. Well, not really, but it didn’t matter. She would never toss him into the ocean. She’d rather toss him into her bed.
Ugh. No. Bad idea. Epically awful, terrible idea.
“Please. I think it would totally work. You two would be so cute together.”
“He’s too good-looking.” Wren stared down at her phone, surprised she was about to admit one of her many insecurities when it came to Tate Warren. “I don’t date men who are better-looking than me.”
“Are you serious right now? Babe, you’re beautiful. Have you seen the way he looks at you?”
“How does he look at me?” Wren asked, her voice small. She nibbled on her thumbnail, scared to hear what Delilah had to say.
“Like he wants you. Like you amuse and intrigue him, all at once. Are you wearing your hair up?”
Delilah’s abrupt change of subject threw her for a second. “Um, yeah?” She turned her head, looking at her reflection. Her high ponytail looked good—if she did say so herself—and it worked double duty considering how hellaciously hot it was outside.
“Take it down. Now,” Delilah demanded.
“Yes, Mom.” Wren pulled the hair tie out, her stick-straight hair falling down past her shoulders.
“Wear your hair down, slick on some shiny lip gloss, and make sure to do that cat-eye thing you’re so good at. You’ll slay him dead. See you soon.” Delilah made kissy noises, and then she was gone.
Wren scowled at herself in the mirror, then snatched the eyeliner pen from the counter. She shouldn’t want to dress up for him. She wasn’t going to dinner tonight to impress a man. That was silly.
But she took a deep breath, told herself to calm down, and started to reapply the eyeliner, telling herself to take her time and get it right. She wanted to look good. Not for Tate.
But for herself.
Chapter Five
TATE HAD A plan—and that plan was to ignore Wren as much as possible tonight. He needed to stay away from her in order to keep his sanity. She had a way of getting under his skin just by looking at him, not to mention when she talked to him. Hearing her voice, seeing her expressive face, just being in her presence made him feel alive.
But he’d pissed her off the last time they were together, and he figured it best to keep his distance. No matter how difficult that might be.