He studies me for a moment. "Tragically," he says with a hint of a smirk.
"Awesome."
Oh god, did I just celebrate his loneliness? Quick, backpedal!
But before I can dig myself any deeper, he extends his hand. "Hayden."
Of coursehis name is Hayden. He even has a perfect handshake—firm but not trying to crush my bones to assert dominance.
"Just Chris," I manage to say without stuttering.
He lets out this deep chuckle. "So how can I help you, Just Chris?"
"We'll get to that." I straighten up, channeling my inner job interviewer. "First, I need you to answer some questions."
His mouth quirks up at one corner. "And what's in it for me?"
"Let's just say I have an offer you can't refuse. But first," I pause for dramatic effect, "I need to make sure you're worthy."
"And how are you going to determine that?"
"Wouldn't you like to know." Time to start the interrogation. "Why are you hanging around in bars in the middle of the week?"
"It's my week off."
I narrow my eyes. "Off of what?"
"I'm a firefighter."
Holy plot twist! Though now that he mentions it, those arms definitely look like they've rescued their fair share of kittens from trees. The tight long-sleeve shirt he's wearing is doing absolutely nothing to hide the fact that he probably bench-presses cars for fun.
Two Instagram-worthy girls walk by, and I watch him carefully, but his eyes don't even flicker in their direction. At this rate, he's collecting green flags like they're Pokemon.
Well, that settles it. Time to go in for the kill.
"My friend thinks you're cute." The words tumble out of my mouth like a confession, and Hayden's resulting smile could power a small city.
"Cute, huh?"
"The word smokin' might have been used." And honestly? Not an exaggeration. If this guy isn't at least part-time modeling, the universe is wasting prime real estate.
He bites his lower lip in response, and damn, Ivy's going to lose her mind. The man's got more facial expressions than a Disney character, each one more devastating than the last.
"Table in the corner," I say, gesturing behind me. "Red hair."
We both turn to look, and of course Ivy picks that exact moment to do her signature move—the not-so-subtle hair flip she probably learned from watching too many rom-coms. She's pretending to be deeply fascinated by something on her phone, but I've known her long enough to recognize her stealth-mode surveillance. About as stealthy as a flamingo in a penguin colony, if you ask me.
When I look back at Hayden, his expression has done a complete one-eighty. Gone is the playful smile, replaced by something that looks suspiciously like—
"Oh. No, I don't think so. But thanks."
Excuse-fucking-me? Did this walking GQ cover just reject my friend without so much as a conversation?
Oh hell no.
I'm not usuallyThat Guy, but for my friends? I'll be whatever guy I need to be.
"She's out of your league, anyway," I snap.
