One Moment Please (Wait With Me #3) - Amy Daws Page 0,7
pull me into his arms, but I laugh and shove him away. “Just this past summer, you professed your love for Kate. Now you want round two with me? I’m not a psychologist yet, but I know enough to inform you that you have boundary issues.”
“That’s such a lie!” he argues and then reaches into my bag and grabs a stick of gum.
I snatch my purse out of his hand. “See? Boundary issues! You can’t just be friends with a woman and not try sleeping with her. The fact that you and I never had sex is the only reason our friendship has remained intact.”
“It’s chewing gum, not your panties.” He pops the stick of gum into his mouth and chews obnoxiously with a grunt.
That grunt has my mind shifting from my short, basically nonexistent fling with Dean to Dr. Douchebag, who’s also a big fan of grunting. My blood boils all over again because all I can picture is that degrading face he made when he looked at me.
What. A. Dick.
And you know what? I bet if I looked like Kate, he’d have been more polite. She’s funny and comes off as one of the guys but looks like a damn movie star, so she’s impossible not to fall for. Hell, even Dean would’ve managed to defuse the situation. That manwhore has the ability to flirt with an asexual rock!
The asexual label was probably unnecessary for that analogy.
But me? What do I do? I stuff a fistful of pie in my face like a prize heifer. Maybe that’s why I’m pushing thirty and have only slept with a handful of guys.
The last one was Barry, the pharmacy tech, who looked like he’d been shot every time he climaxed.
I shudder.
No wonder I haven’t been laid in months. If my most recent experience is Barry, then the night is dark and full of terrors.
Turning on my heel, I paste on a determined smile. “Ready to go, wingman?”
He sighs heavily as he forlornly checks me out one more time. “I’m at your service.”
Thirty minutes later, we’re seated at Bitter Bar, one of my favorite spots in downtown Boulder. It’s a loungey, hipster scene with red mood lighting and rustic wood accents. Dean and I managed to grab two open stools at the end of the bar. We’re picking at a bowl of popcorn while waiting on drink number two when I get to the end of my cafeteria sob story.
“He basically accused me of having Munchausen syndrome!” I exclaim just as the bartender sets our fresh drinks in front of us.
“Here’s your IPA, sir. And here is your Birds and Bees cocktail, ma’am.” The bartender with a curly mustache spins on his heel and takes off without a look back.
My face falls. “When did I go from miss to ma’am?” I drop the popcorn kernels in my hand and pick up my cocktail for a pouty sip. The bartender’s dismissal of me is seriously dimming the sexual goddess vibe I walked in here with. “I’m a ma’am now?”
Dean rolls his eyes. “Finish your story.”
“I forgot where I was…That’s what happens to old people,” I mope.
“Lynsey, you’re twenty-seven. You’re not old. So what happened after he said you were breaking a socially acceptable rule?”
I sigh heavily. “That’s pretty much it. I stormed out of there and didn’t look back. Can you believe he said that, though? Between you, me, and Kate, who’s the most socially responsible one?”
“You,” Dean replies instantly.
“Exactly!” I exclaim and take another drink. “I’m always responsible. I do one little weird thing like work on my paper in a hospital cafeteria for a few months, which, by the way, isn’t a crime, and it blows up in my face.” My words rip open the wound all over again.
“Total bullshit,” Dean confirms.
“Kate snuck into a tire shop to work, and she got a hot mechanic out of the deal. Life can be so unfair.”
“I know,” Dean replies and follows suit with his drink.
“I don’t even get why he cared that I was there. You’d think a doctor would have better things to do with their time. And I’d swear he wanted my pie. You should have seen the way he was looking at it.”
“No man gets that upset over pie.” Dean reaches for the popcorn and gets a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Are you sure he didn’t want something else?”
I shrug, my eyes slightly foggy from the effects of the alcohol. “He stared more at the pie than he did