I simply agree. “Sure, okay. I can live with us being friends only.”
Becca doesn’t look like she believes me.
Wise girl.
Sounding skeptical, she asks, “Really, Lars? Can you really just be my friend?”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, Becca, I really can.”
“You sure are feisty,” she remarks.
“Ha! You don’t know the half of it. I’ll show you feisty, woman.”
I’m about to lean over and kiss the ever-loving hell out of her—fuck this friends crap already—but she holds up her hand.
“Ah, ah, ah, hold up there, bud. You do realize ‘friends only’ means there will be no repeats of the night at the movie theatre?”
I grumble, “Right, right. Okay, I get it. No kissing.”
“And no groping,” she adds.
“No groping, either. I got that too.”
She sounds unsure when she whispers, “And definitely, definitely no sex.”
Eyeing her suspiciously, I ask, “Are these rules for me, or are they actually for you?”
“Very funny, jackass.” She pushes my shoulder, but of course she can’t budge me. “For your information, they’re for both of us.”
I hold up my hands. “All right, okay, I give up. We’ll play it your way.”
“Good. Now that we have that established, when should we go out?”
I crack a smile. “Eager, aren’t we, friend?”
Shaking her head, her soft blonde curls bouncing, she tells me, “You are so arrogant. You know this, right? I mean, you have to. It’s not just tonight. You were like this at the theatre too.”
“Whatever.” I snort. “Arrogant, my ass. I prefer to call it confidence.”
“See what I mean?” She throws up her hands. “Good thing we’re going to be just friends.”
“Yeah”—I roll my eyes—“good thing.”
It totally is not, but like I told her, I can play her game. What she doesn’t realize is that I plan to win in the end, meaning she will be mine. I am eventually going to have her under me, screaming out my name in pleasure.
Becca, breaking me from my dirty thoughts, asks, “Do you want to go out as friends or not?”
“I want to,” I confirm. “I told you as much. So yeah, let’s make a plan.”
“Okay, when should we go out?”
Again, her eagerness amuses me.
Maybe that does make me sound cocky, but who cares?
I’m all about winning.
And I plan to win her.
I mean, look at her in that slinky black dress and thigh-high boots. Becca is sexy and beautiful.
Wait, that gives me an idea…
I tell her as much, and she says, “What kind of an idea?”
“I think we should go out on our first date—as friends, of course—right now.”
Her brows shoot up. “Go out now?”
“Yeah, why not? We still need to eat dinner, right?”
Blinking over at me and looking cute as hell, she says, “Should we go back into the restaurant, then?”
I shake my head. “Nah, Caleb and Jodi have probably already ordered their food. They may even be eating.” Grinning over at her mischievously, I add, “What do you say we ditch them and go out and do our own thing?”
I can tell she likes the idea. Becca may be a runner, but Caleb was right when he said she’s up for fun.
This girl is definitely coming out of her shell.
I like that.
It means we can be real with each other.
Becca agrees on starting our first “friends” date right away, and asks enthusiastically. “Do you want to follow me, or should I follow you?”
I don’t want to complicate things, so I suggest, “How about if we leave my car here and take yours? That is, if you’re cool with driving me back after dinner.”
Playfully, she tells me, “As long as you behave, you’ll have a ride.”
“Oooh…” I pretend to shudder. “Tough talk from such a pretty woman.”
“That’s right,” she warns. “So you’ll be good?”
“I promise. I’ll be a gem.”
“Cool. Now we just need to decide where we should go.”
Harder Than I Thought
After giving Lars a little bit of a hard time—all in fun, of course—I say, “Cool. Now we just need to decide where we should go.”
Looking contemplative, but smartass-y as well—no surprise there—he replies, “I think we should go someplace low-key and friend-like. We’re going to have to think about it. This could take a while.”
He’s such a snot.
A gorgeous snot, but a snot nonetheless.
Sighing, I remark, “I see you’re going to be one of those kinds of friends.”
“What kind of friend is that?” he asks, grinning over at me. “Would it be the ‘hot’ kind? Or maybe the ‘super-intelligent’ kind?”
“My God.” I throw my hands up in the air for the second time tonight. “You’re impossible. And by the