“Excuse me?”
My spine stiffens, and I turn slowly to my left. The marg chugging woo girls have moved on and in their place is a guy who—judging by the big ass grin on his face—definitely heard me say balls.
Talk about first impressions.
Heat floods my cheeks. “Uh, maybe we can just pretend you didn’t hear that?”
“Hear what?” he asks, grin widening. “I’m Mike, by the way.”
“Quinn.”
I give him a quick once-over. He’s got a friendly smile, full and inviting without being creepy. He’s a few inches taller than me with shaggy brown hair, hazel eyes, and a runner’s build, which is on full display under a fitted tee and equally snug jeans.
Mike leans forward, resting his arms on the bar. “Are you here by yourself?”
“My friends are around here somewhere.” I make a vague gesture toward the dance floor. “You?”
“My roommates are in the back shooting pool. Figured I’d get faster service at the bar.” He cuts his eyes at the bartender, who’s now pouring a row of yellow shots, before he turns his attention back to me. “But I don’t mind waiting. Especially when the company is good.”
I’m not sure I qualify as good company, unless he’s looking for comedic relief, but he’s cute, hasn’t looked at my boobs once, and seems to be single, so #winning.
Go figure. Frat boy knew what he was talking about after all.
“Do you come here often?” I immediately give myself a mental facepalm because the only people who ask questions like that are sleazy guys from nineties rom-coms.
He shrugs. “I’m not big on the bar scene, but it would be sacrilege not to celebrate our first road win of the season.”
“So you’re toasting the football gods tonight?” I flash a teasing grin. “Good to know.”
“You’re not?” He leans back, pretending to be totally affronted. “If you aren’t into football, I’m not sure we can be friends.”
Playing along, I lift my brows and feign confusion. “A bunch of testosterone fueled men in tight pants slugging it out over a leather ball. What’s not to like?”
“Good point.” He laughs. It’s light and easy, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.Must be nice. “Can I buy you a drink, Quinn?”
Cute, single, hasn’t looked at my boobs,andremembered my name? Hell, yes, he can buy me a drink. “Sure,” I say, playing it cool for the first time in my life.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asks, appearing on the other side of the scarred bar like a freaking ninja.
I open my mouth to order another beer, but Mike cuts me off.
“A lager for me and an AMF for the lady.” He shoots me that disarming smile and scoots a little closer, dropping his voice low. “Don’t worry. You’ll like it.”
I want to point out that he has no clue what I’d like since we just met like five seconds ago, but maybe he thinks he’s being chivalrous or something? Sometimes my dad orders for my mom, but they’ve been married for twenty-five years and she has generalized anxiety disorder, so it’s not exactly the same.
Does it even matter?
No, no it does not. A one-night stand does not a soulmate make.
“Thanks.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “For the drink, I mean.”
“My pleasure.” He leans in close and suddenly it’s like we’re in our own little world. It’s... nice. “What’s your major?”
“Undeclared.” I bite my lower lip. It’s the most basic getting to know you question on campus, but I hate it. It’s like everyone else has their life all figured out while I’m floundering around in uncertainty. Might as well just put a flashing light on my head that saysHometownHot Mess: Population Me. “You?”
God, my conversational skills suck.
“I’m pre law.” Of course he is. “With a minor in history.”
