“When you were filling your handbag with pretzels.”
“Sneaky.” I wink and take another sip. “I love Fireball so much, don’t you?”
He takes a sip and winces. “No, not really.”
“Awww.” I grip his shoulder. “You got these for me and you’re suffering through it to impress me.”
“Sure,” he says, taking another sip.
“Aren’t you the charmer, Pike Greyson.”
Above us, screens span the diameter of the pod, displaying shows and concerts from around the city. They’re mildly distracting, but not distracting enough to divert my eyes away from the man in front of me.
“I don’t try to be.”
“And why is that?” I ask, crossing one leg over the other. “Do you not care to have attention from females?”
“I don’t need to try to get their attention. I think you are case and point in that regard.”
My mouth falls open, and I catch the smirk spreading across his lips. “If I weren’t drunk right now, I would be offended. Instead, I’m acutely annoyed by that comment.”
“Is it not true?” He pops another pretzel in his mouth.
“Have I attempted to gather your attention? Yes, but that’s because you’re an easy target. You know, I don’t get out much.”
“Why not?”
I shrug. “Why try to get out when there are easy pickings at my brother’s place of work?”
“I wouldn’t say I’ve been easy.”
I scoff. “Just because you’ve been playing hard to get. If I knew wearing this scrap of fabric around my body was going to convince you, then I would’ve done it a while ago.”
“If you wore that dress to school, you’d never be allowed back.”
“True.” I smile drunkenly. “Oh.” I snap my fingers. “I would just wait for you at your car. You know, sit on it until you came out. That way I’m not in school, but still getting your attention.”
“I don’t have a car.”
My brow creases. “Do you walk to work?”
He downs the rest of his bottle and sets it to the side. “Motorcycle.”
I toss my hands up in the air in defeat. “Of course. Of course, you have a freaking motorcycle. Let me guess, you don’t wear a helmet.”
“I’m not a twit. Of course, I wear a helmet.”
“Are you part of a club?” I gasp. “Wait, oh my God, are you friends with Jax Teller?”
“The fictional character from Sons of Anarchy?”
I nod vigorously.
He studies me for a few seconds and then says, “Yes, I am.”
I clench my fists as I raise them in the air dramatically. “I knew it. Wow, just wow, you’re all kinds of surprise. Think you can introduce me?”
“I can FaceTime him.”
My eyes widen.
“Really?”
He nods and takes his phone out of his pocket and scrolls through it. He finds a name, clicks on it, and then the phone starts beeping. I clutch my mini bottle of Fireball to my chest as I wait in drunken delirium.
The phone connects, showing the man who answered the call in bed, his short brown hair ruffled and his chest sprinkled with hair.
“What the fuck,” he says in a British accent. “It’s five in the morning. What’s going on? Are you dead?”
“Would I be calling you if I were dead?” Pike asks.
“Possibly. Wouldn’t put it past you.” The man, who definitely isn’t Jax Teller, rubs his eyes. “What the fuck do you want?”
“My girl here wanted to meet Jax Teller. I told her I knew him and that I would FaceTime you. Say hi, Jax.”
Pike moves the phone toward me and even though I know this is the most ridiculous thing ever, because too much alcohol makes you do stupid shit, I wave frantically. “Jax, it’s so nice to meet you. I love your motorcycle. How does it feel to have such a powerful machine between your legs?”
“What?” the man asks. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Ooo, he gets angry just like in the show. Impression spot on.” I wink at Pike.
“Pike, who the hell is this?”
Pike turns the phone back toward him and says, “Coraline, my escort.”
“You got a bloody escort?” The guy sits up. “Who knows about this? Is she an escort or a prostitute? This isn’t a good image. Has anyone seen you? You know Pa can sniff this shit out.”
“Pa?” I ask. “Aww, are you two brothers?” I bring the phone back to me. “Oh, look, you have the same eyes. I will say, Pike, you’re more ruggedly handsome, while this brother of yours seems more refined, but with a dirty side to him.” Directing my question to the brother, I ask, “Are you dirty? Two fingers or one? Your brother uses two fingers.”