I Flipping Love You (Shacking Up 3)

I don’t respond to that one. Later that evening I get another message:

Pierce: Do you like tea?

Rian: Are you going to make a joke about tea bagging?

Pierce: Such as bag in or out?

I ignore that message. It’s been days since he sent the quotes, and I’d like to get it off my conscience and my plate.

Rian: I’d like to wire the money to your account. Can you send the details, please?

Pierce: Sure. Meet me at Frescos on the beach. 7pm work for you?

Rian: Not happening. Bank details please.

Pierce: I’d prefer that this transaction takes place in person.

I look up Fresco’s. It’s a five-star restaurant. That place is designed for romance and seduction. The cheapest dish on their menu is a thirty-five-dollar chicken breast. I don’t know what this guy’s game is, but I don’t want to play. Mostly. Sort of.

But I need to get this money situation sorted out and for him to stop messaging me. Because I’m starting to enjoy all this banter, which isn’t good. So I relent, even though I shouldn’t.

Rian: Meet me at the Starbucks on the corner of Montauk and Ponquogue in an hour. I’ll bring a check.

Pierce: It’s a date.

Rian: It’s a transaction, and a way to get you off my back, don’t read anything into it.

Pierce: See you soon ;)

I don’t understand why this guy is pushing so hard to see me when all I’ve been is difficult with him. He probably likes the chase.

I would like to say I make zero effort to look good for my anticipated meeting with Pierce, but that would be untrue. I only make half an effort. I pair jeans with a long-sleeved shirt and fix my makeup—but just the basics, mascara and some lip gloss. I wear flats and I put my hair in a ponytail so as not to seem as if I care what he thinks of my appearance.

I go armed with his quotes, my checkbook, and a vague plan to whittle him down for his sexist comment. My goal is to set this up like a business meeting so he knows it’s not a date. Even though I’m fifteen minutes early, he’s earlier. A-hole.

He’s sitting in one of those comfy chairs, with his hand wrapped around a grande something or other. He’s not dressed in a suit this time. Instead, he’s wearing a pair of distressed jeans and a T-shirt with a hot dog on it. I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but he looks as good in jeans as he does in a suit, maybe even better.

It’s horribly unfair. And all my girl parts are reacting accordingly. Which is bad. I have to remind myself that hot guys are always a bad call.

He lifts his eyes from the phone in his hand when the bell over the door tinkles. He sets his coffee on the little table and motions to the empty seat across from him as he rises. Why does his smile have to be so pretty?

“You’re early.” It comes out sounding like an accusation.

Pierce’s smile widens. His lips are so full; his teeth are so white and straight and perfect. “So are you.”

I drop down in the chair across from him and immediately produce my checkbook. “Shall we discuss the quotes?”

He ignores my attempt to get right down to business. “What can I get you to drink?”

“I’m not thirsty. Thank you for the offer, though.” I should be somewhat polite considering my plan to haggle a discount.

I wait for him to take a seat, but he doesn’t. It means his crotch is at eye level, and it’s difficult not to allow my eyes to drift in that direction. Especially when he stuffs his hands in his pockets. I finally yield and meet his amused gaze. “I bet you’re a caramel macchiato woman.”

I frown. Maybe he really is some kind of crazy stalker. “How would you—”

“Your grocery cart was full of sugar. Lucky guess. Any modifications, or just the way it is?” He takes a step toward the barista.

“You can’t buy me a coffee. I already owe you money. I don’t want to owe you more.”

“Technically your sister is the one who owes me money. I’m just lucky I get to deal with you instead.” I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or what since I don’t think I’ve been a particular joy to deal with thus far.

I lurch out of the chair and duck around him with a complete lack of grace so I can get to the counter first. I place my order and attempt to pull up my app, but Pierce reaches around me and scans his first. I mutter a reluctant thank you and wait for the macchiato I had no intention of purchasing, but am very much looking forward to drinking—even if it’s on Pierce’s dime.

He stands right beside me while I wait. “You look nice,” he says conversationally.

I glance in his direction. “Thanks.”

“What’re you doing after this?”

Probably going home to masturbate to the image of your pretty face. “I have to work.”

“Do you do that from home?”

“Sometimes.” I don’t enjoy being asked questions about myself, partly because my family history is less than ideal. It’s one of the reasons I struggle with dating. The whole let’s-get-to-know-each-other part is a problem. For most people, banal questions about family and employment are easy to answer, but not for me.

“You’re a real talker, aren’t you?” Pierce asks, that wry smile still in place.

“Sometimes.” The barista passes me my drink and I follow Pierce back to the table he’s secured for us. I notice we’re tucked into a corner.

“You sure had a lot to say last week in the grocery store.”

“Well, you were throwing out accusations, and making sexist comments, so of course I had something to say, which brings us to the reason we’re here.” Using that as a way to bring it back to business, I pull my checkbook out and the quotes. “I’m willing to cut you a check for the dealership quote, minus twenty percent for objectifying me.”

“Do you work in sales or something?”

“Or something, not that it has anything to do with you being sexist or my sister hitting your car. Your quote is for $3122. A twenty percent discount would bring it down to roughly $2500.”

He sips his coffee, or whatever it is, regarding me from over the rim. “If you think that’s fair, you can go ahead and write a check for $2500.”

I can’t believe he doesn’t even argue over the 20 percent. Or that this could be so easy.

“On one condition,” he adds.

Of course. I set down the pen. “And what would that condition be?”

“You agree to go out with me.”

I frown. I’m sure it’s an unbecoming expression.

That ever-present grin widens and his eyes, quite literally, twinkle as he clarifies. “On a date.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

Because you’re gorgeous and I’m attracted to you and it makes you exactly the kind of guy I should definitely not go out with. “I don’t understand why you want to go out with me. It’s not as though I’ve been particularly friendly, or even a little nice or encouraging.”

He leans forward, as if he’s going to tell me a secret. “I find you attractive, and I like that you’re sassy and not a pushover. I also like a challenge.”

“I’m seeing someone.” It’s not exactly a lie since I have a date with Terry later this week.

“Oh.” Pierce’s smile disappears, and he leans back in his chair. “Why didn’t you say something before?”