sneaking more of my dinner. Madison isn’t a meat lovers, all the veggies, and extra cheese kind of girl like I am; she’s more of a Margherita type. Thing is, if I make a frozen pizza, she’ll eat that too—regardless of her protests.
“So, back to this guy—he was hitting on you?”
“Probably not on purpose. I feel like a guy like that cannot help himself. It’s like word vomit to him. He would have hit on me if I had a paper bag over my head, was hunched over, and walked sideways.”
Madison rolls her brown eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic. Why wouldn’t he have hit on you? You’re gorgeous, happy—practically oozing with charisma.”
Oozing? “That’s the cheese from this burger.”
“I’m being serious.”
“So am I. He didn’t even know my name, and here he is asking me on a date.” So there.
My bestie isn’t buying that argument. “Um, hello—if some guy hits on you in a club, the chances that he knows your name beforehand are slim to none. Cut the guy some slack.”
I rest a hand on the counter. “Madison, you know what I went through with Marlon—I am not dating a player. Or a player.” Ha!
I hate calling Marlon Daymon my ex “boyfriend”. We dated for scarcely three months last spring, but I had thought he was fantastic. Tall. Athletic. Funny. So, so funny he charmed the pants off of me the minute I was introduced after a Chicago Steam game I attended. He came up to the stadium suite to schmooze with my father and I believed every word he spoke when he opened those pouty lips of his.
My mistake. Marlon Daymon is a conceited. Spoiled. Liar.
“Not all men are like that. It’s not your fault he turned out to be a total fucker.”
“Thanks, that’s really sweet of you to say, but I should have known better. Most of those guys are playboys.”
“Okay, but some of them aren’t.”
“Um…” I disagree. “Maybe not, but Buzz Wallace is. Hello, he dates supermodels and actresses—not girls who work at publishing houses and read books for a living.” Nerd alert! “A professional baseball player is not my speed, Madison. You know this about me.”
But they are her speed and that’s why she’s so desperate for me to date one. I hear about it nonstop, and I wish I were into men who are into themselves, but I’m not.
I had that desire sucked right out of me when my last love interest wanted nothing more than his golden ticket to the owner’s suite. I was simply a pawn to him.
My phone rings, vibrating on the counter, and I flip it over.
“Oh, it’s the silver fox!” Madison enthuses, hopping up and down like a hyper toddler.
“Stop.”
I hate when she calls my dad a silver fox; it’s gross and weird.
I set the phone back down. Dad can wait.
“See what he wants!” she pushes, nudging it toward me. Poking the green talk button, forcing the video call on me.
“Hi Dad.”
My best friend leans in to see the screen. “Hi Mr. Westbrooke!” She says it in a slightly smarmy way that has me swatting at her to quit it.
Shut up! I mouth with an eye roll, strategically shifting the camera away for a moment. “Sorry about that, Madison is here.”
Dad clears his throat, unsure about how to reply. He’s not great with young adults, and he certainly has no idea how to act around my best friend—not when she hits on him every chance she gets.
His throat clears again, all business. “Earlier when you were here, I forgot to mention the commission-sponsored fundraiser this upcoming weekend. All proceeds go to fight human trafficking, and I have a ticket for you.”
I groan. That is one of the world’s worthiest causes, but I’d rather go to an actual meeting to learn more about it than spend an afternoon in a room full of fake people at a fundra—
An elbow hits my gut. “She’d love to go, Mr. Westbrooke. Will you be there?”
Jeez Louise, she’s full-on flirting with my father.
“Er, no. I’ll be out of town, but I can have my secretary send over the ticket.”
“Can you send over two tickets?” Madison’s eyes are wide and hopeful. “Then she can take a date.” Me, she mouths with a wink.
Dad hesitates, not one to be strong-armed by an interloper who isn’t even part of the family, and he’s never been overly fond of Madison. “I don’t know—can you guarantee you’ll get Hollis to attend?”
No! I mouth, stepping away from the phone and crisscrossing