She rolls her big brown eyes. “You thought I was hitting on you. Don’t flatter yourself! You’re not my type!”
“Is that so?” I say as a challenge, hoping she’ll elaborate.
“It is!” She nods and her lips purse. With her arms folded in front of her chest, her eyes move up and down
my body. “Let me guess, with your designer clothing and conceited arrogance, I’m going to say investment banker.”
I scoff. “I’m not a banker.”
“Ha!” she gloats. “But you work in investing. You’re completely transparent, pretty boy, and as shallow as they come.”
Ouch! That hurt, but I’m amused and wiggle my eyebrows at her. “Perfect. You’re not my type, either. My turn.” I deliberately take my time looking her over, stopping at her full breasts for a while before making eye contact with her. “I’d say barista, but with your personality, I bet it’s more like you ask, ‘do you want fries with that?’ eight hours a day.”
She curls her lip and says, “Wrong, and that might hurt if I actually gave a shit what you think about me!”
While she’s pint-sized, maybe five-one, five-two, her attitude is easily seven feet tall, which I find oddly appealing.
“You don’t have to give a shit, but you still want me to feel your kitty. Come on, admit it!”
“You’re an asshole!” she responds instantly.
That’s twice in one morning I’ve been called the glorious A-word. It’s the typical default come-back for women after I’ve shocked them and they’re so pissed they can’t think. I’d like to say twice is my record, but there were those three brunettes I woke up with a couple of weeks ago.
“I’m flattered,” I say and grin sardonically.
She grumbles a string of profanities under her breath in Spanish and I laugh.
“Go to hell!” With one last dirty look, she turns and storms out of the room. I’m left stunned and slightly turned on. No woman has ever spoken to me so confidently, or rejected me so adamantly. Well, except for one. That’s the only thing this girl has in common with Tori.
I leave the cigar shop and try not to think about the pretentious jerk inside. The gorgeous pretentious jerk, tall and lean with smoky bedroom eyes and a delicious smile. Maybe I was too harsh, but I’m having a crappy day, and he set me off. I’m also angry with myself for being a sucker for a guy who clearly wants to add me to a growing list of women he smooth-talks into sex. He probably has a drawer full of trinkets from his conquests or a list he keeps in a frame above his bed.
After I pick up my grandfather’s prescription, I walk to my car and feel him behind me. I refuse to turn around, but I know it’s him by his cologne.
“Hey, wait up!” he calls after me, but I keep walking.
When he catches up to me, I spin around and snap, “What?”
He runs a hand through his messily-styled, thick brown hair and smiles. He’s cute, but too cute, and he knows it. He holds my gaze for an uncomfortable amount of time, but in a way that clearly announces his intentions are to get me naked, and ‘feel my kitty’ as soon as feasibly possible.
“I wanted to apologize for earlier.”
His eyes smolder, but all I see is trouble and a cocky superiority in his smug grin, like I should strip off my panties and lie down right here on the sidewalk.
“Great, do you feel better now?”
I push past him and continue walking. He’s in front of me in seconds. I keep going, but he walks backward to stay in my path.
“That wasn’t quite the response I was hoping for,” he says casually, his smile lifting upward in the most overly friendly manner possible.
“No, I’m sure it wasn’t.” I stop walking and put my hand up in front of me. “Look, it’s all good. I don’t know you, and you don’t know me. Now, carry on.”
“Wait. You don’t know who I am?”
I shake my head. “No, but I know your type. You think with your chubby, and all you want from me is to get belly to belly. I’m not interested.”
“Actually I prefer pelvis to ass,” he says with a straight face. He tilts his head as his eyebrows knit together, waiting for me to reply, but I’m speechless, which I’m positive was his goal. His eyes are impossibly gorgeous, and I glance away. “But you don’t know my name?”
What is with the third degree? He’s treading on obnoxious territory here. He didn’t deny his intentions, which means—I’m right.