the douchebag. I told you I can take care of myself.” And with that, I blink my eyes over to the jerk who’d been this close to getting punched tonight. “You. Don’t look at my tits, don’t talk about my tits, don’t even think about my tits. These tits are not for you.” My declaration is met with good-natured laughter, probably because I just said tits like four times, and I’ve got said tits grabbed in my hands to reiterate my point. The jerk nods a sort of apology and moves back toward his seat.
I turn to Scott. “See? I got this.”
Scott nods, then chuckles. “Would you believe me if I told you I’m not a total asshole? I meant it to be gentlemanly.” ‘Gentlemanly’ takes him three tries to say, but the gesture is appreciated either way.
I laugh softly, the world swimming before me. Where are those fries? They sound like heaven right now. “Well then, I know my prize. You’re taking me on a date, Gentleman Danger. Hey . . . I think that’s a paradox.”
Tiffany laughs, still helping me shuffle walk toward the back.
Scott trails behind, laughing. “Well, fuck. If I’d known that was your prize, I would’ve let you win a few shots ago and saved us the trouble and the hangover. All I wanted was to take you to dinner.”
“Well, clear your schedule then. Because it’s a date,” I say loudly. My stomach lurches, and I look at Tiffany. “Hey, we need to hit the bathroom before I lie down. Tequila must go down, but tequila is coming back up.”
She turns the other way, directing me to the bathroom. Vaguely, I hear Stella yell out behind me. “Carl, looks like you’re working a double.”
I giggle a bit. Serves him right. I’m always covering for him, so tonight, he can cover for me. Because I just won myself a date . . . with Danger.
Chapter 9
Madison
Daily Horoscope, September 30th
Libra - New adventures can be a good thing.
“Okay, keep it calm, girl. Enjoy the adventure. It’s just a date,” I remind myself of Tiff’s horoscope reading this morning, even if my heart clenches at the prospect of going on a first date for the first time in ages. I button my shorts. They’re not my shortest ones, but they still show off about a mile and a half of my legs. I take a deep breath, composing the butterflies in my stomach.
It’s been almost a week since Scott and I had our impromptu drinking contest. At first, I was worried he wouldn’t even remember his drunken promise to take me out and I’d get stood up for our date after radio silence.
The reality has been anything but. After I sent him a text the next morning, telling him my skull felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to my temples, Scott sent me a funny GIF from an old cartoon of just that. The seal had been broken, and since then, we’ve swapped several texts a day, but it hasn’t helped my nervousness.
Looking at myself in the mirror, I think I’ve nailed the fun and flirty look, a chiffon tank that floats against my body, shorty shorts, and lace-up heeled sandals.
And when I pair my outfit with big curls and my full face of makeup, I feel comfortable. My usual ‘mask’ for the world provides just enough distance to put me at ease.
Heading into the living room, I twirl on a toe, spreading my arms out wide. “How do I look?” I ask Tiffany, who’s sprawled out on the couch. “Do I look worthy of a Danger?”
Tiff looks up, her iPhone in one hand and a donut in the other, to eye me critically. “Girl, I don’t care what his name is. He’s gonna be eating out of the palm of your hand. Especially since he’s already on the hunt,” she says with a wink.
Tiffany originally thought that Scott had shown up at the bar for the drinking contest because I called him after May and she encouraged it. But she was doubly excited when I told her that he came in before I had a chance to call, teasing that he was solidly on my hook and all I had to do was reel him in nice and slow and hop on his dick. I faked being offended, but she and I both knew that was pretty much what tonight was.
Tiff bites into her donut, talking with her mouth full. “You ready for this? Need a