Hate to Date You (Dating #4) - Monica Murphy Page 0,33

with a strand of her hair. “Your hair is beautiful.”

Oh, I am most definitely flirting with her on purpose, to see how far I can take it before she gives. Panic flares in her eyes and she looks around, as if she’s afraid someone will notice us. I keep my focus entirely on her, shifting a little closer, invading her personal space.

“Um, thank you,” she says nervously, tucking the hair I just touched behind her ear. “I’m a natural blonde.” Her cheeks turn even redder. “I don’t know why I just told you that. You didn’t ask. And like you’d care.”

“There aren’t too many natural blondes out there,” I say.

“I do get it highlighted, so I’m not all natural.” She looks down at her lap, her expression morose. I’m guessing she’s beating herself up internally. She’s a little awkward, but sweet.

“Do you color your own hair?”

“Oh no. One of the women I work with cuts it and does my highlights. And I do hers.”

“So you can recommend each other,” I say.

“Definitely.”

“I’ll have to come in sometime and have you cut my hair.” I pause and send her a look. A lesser version of the smolder I normally send Stella, if you will. “I’m sure you’d do an excellent job.”

Eleanor’s eyes are wide, and she appears completely panicked. I’m guessing she recognized the smolder and doesn’t know what to do with it? “You’d need to call and make an appointment first. I’m actually pretty booked.”

“I can do that,” I say easily. “Do you have a business card?”

She grabs the tiny bag hanging from the back of her chair and pops it open, digging around until she has a matte black business card clutched between her fingers. “Here you go,” she says as she hands it over.

I take it from her, letting my fingers touch hers, and she jerks her hand back like I bit her. I’m such an asshole for doing this, but I want to see if she’d report to Stella that I’m flirting with her. If she does, that means Eleanor knows. And if Eleanor knows…

Who else knows?

Actually, I could be totally wrong and flirting with Eleanor is making her increasingly uncomfortable because she has no real interest in me. If that’s the case, I need to stop and act like a regular human being and not some guy who’s trying to score a free haircut in return for a date.

Damn, when I think of it like that, I sound like a potential sleaze.

“I’ll call and make an appointment.” I keep my voice even. Shift away from her so I’m not sitting so close. Keep my expression completely neutral, so she doesn’t think I’m trying to flirt with her anymore. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” She offers a shy smile as she puts her purse away and then rises to her feet. “Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”

“Why did you flirt with her?” Caroline asks the moment Eleanor’s out of hearing distance. “I thought you weren’t interested.”

I shrug. “She seems nice.”

“Eleanor is very nice. But I realized something once you started talking to her.” She pauses and I wait for what she has to say. I’m sure it’s not positive. “You’re a shark. You’d probably eat her whole.”

“Maybe she wants me to eat her whole.” I blink at her, the very essence of innocence.

Caroline makes a disgusted face. “You were gross when you were a teenager, and it looks like you haven’t changed a bit.”

“Oh give me a break, Caro. I was just giving you shit.” I sock her lightly on the arm and she returns the gesture, then forgets about me completely when her fiancé calls her name.

This gives me the chance to look around for Eleanor, and I spot the back of her leaving the room, a woman clad in red lace walking beside her.

I can’t help the smirk that spreads across my face. Looks like Eleanor ran off to tell Stella all about me flirting with her. This almost confirms that she knows about the hookup.

Interesting.

“Hey.” I turn to find Michael Ricci looming over me, and my nuts immediately shrivel up. Please don’t tell me he found out I had sex with his little sister. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Sure.” I clear my throat. Michael is a big dude. Taller and broader than me, with thick, black brows, and matching black hair. He’s usually got a smile on his face, but right now he looks serious.

Deadly serious.

Michael plops into Eleanor’s abandoned chair, turning toward me. “I