“It is cool tonight.” I wrap my cardigan around me. “Thanks for bringing my cardigan.”
He smiles. “That’s okay.”
“How did your job go?” I ask.
“Oh, that . . .” He rolls his eyes. “I wouldn’t call it a job. More like a torture chamber.”
“Why? What happened?”
“Well.” He twists his lips as if trying to find the right words. “I had to put on a suit that smelled so bad it was inhumane, not to mention hotter than Satan’s asshole, and then I got punched in the junk so hard that one of my balls is still lodged in my esophagus.”
My eyes widen. “Are you for real?”
“Deadly.” He shrugs. “Being Binky Bear was definitely not one of my greatest moments.”
I burst out laughing. “You were Binky Bear?”
“The best they ever had.”
“I don’t understand. Who punched you?”
“Some prick of a kid. Don’t worry, I took care of him . . . and then . . . got fired for it.”
“I can’t imagine why.” I get the giggles as I imagine him being accosted by a four-year-old. “You got fired?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You needed the money, and what about poor Eddie? He got you that job.”
“I feel like shit, in hindsight.”
“You should have stuck it out . . . for him.”
His shoulders slump. “I know.”
“When you have no money, any job will do.”
“I know.” He exhales. “I’ll stick it out next time, but seriously, it wasn’t a job, it was an assault.”
I giggle as I imagine it. “I wish I was there to see it.”
He smirks. His pointer is steepled up along his temple as he stares at me, and the way he is looking at me, it’s crystal clear that he has an agenda.
“What?” I ask.
“Are we going to talk about this morning?”
I act casual. “What about it?”
“You were angry with me.”
“Your drinks.” The waiter puts our two drinks in front of us.
“Thank you,” we reply.
Play it cool.
“No, I wasn’t,” I lie.
He frowns.
“I was just tired and grumpy.”
“You don’t get grumpy with me.”
“Then why do you call me Grumps?”
His eyebrows flick up as if he’s unimpressed.
“Just saying.”
He takes a sip of his margarita. “Not bad.” He rolls his lips to taste the salt, and we fall silent. “I didn’t sleep with her.”
Fuck . . . he knows.
I widen my eyes. “Don’t care if you did.”
“Really?” His sexy eyes hold mine.
“What are you doing?” I snap.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s like you’re goading me for something . . . what do you want?”
“Answers.”