Why did I say that?

Normal people, ones not like me, obviously, would ask questions and make small talk, but do I do that? No, I throw out useless factoids because he said he’s on a barroom trivia team thirty minutes ago while listing off hobbies and interests.

It’s not even conversationally relevant now.

His head tilts to the right the slightest bit and then he volleys back, “The stapes is roughly the size of a grain of rice.”

Holy shit! Is he trying to out-trivia me? Or trivia-flirting? Flirtriva? It’s like nerd-sexy to the max. He probably knows the answers to random game show questions, but anatomy and physiology? This is my wheelhouse.

“Everyone knows the adult human body has 206 bones.” I wait for his nod before continuing, “But did you know infants have almost 300? They slowly ossify and fuse together to get to the 206 everyone learns in school.” My words speed up until they’re rushing out under the weight of his stare.

My breath hitches when he leans forward and says quietly, “Except when there are 207 bones in a human body.”

It takes me a solid heartbeat to figure out that he’s making a dirty joke because he says it so utterly seriously that I start singing the bone song to double-check that I haven’t miscounted. I want to recoil in disgust or tell him he’s shocking and filthy. I want to get up and walk out, leaving him wondering what just happened.

But before I can do any of that, I laugh . . . loud and hard. I cover my mouth with my hand, knowing that I’ll draw unwanted attention and gossip from the people at the bar.

“Well, for half of us, at least.”

Blake laughs with me, blissfully unaware that anything might be amiss.

It’s refreshing, something I haven’t felt in a long time.

“Does that kind of line usually work for you?” I intend for it to be a small dig, but he shrugs it off, showing no sign of offense.

If anything, his lips twitch as though he’s enjoying the battle of words. “Shockingly, yes. Trivia humor might be my smoothest move.”

“If that’s true, you must be rough as sandpaper.”

He scrubs at his cheeks, not making even a slight scratching sound on the smooth skin, as rebuttal. “Wanna check for yourself?”

I’m tempted, but before I can do anything, Bubba sets down burger baskets on the literal edge of the table as if he doesn’t want to get any closer to me or Blake and then scurries away quickly.

Blake’s eyebrow rises dangerously as he cuts his eyes to follow Bubba’s hasty exit. But he pushes one of the baskets my way. The aroma of fresh meat wafts up, and my stomach grumpily reminds me that I didn’t eat lunch today, so I ignore whatever eye battle Blake and Bubba have going on this time in favor of digging into my dinner.

“Good?” Blake asks a moment later. I look up as I swallow my fourth bite to find him simply watching me.

I grunt a positive response and take a way-too-big bite that probably makes me look like a carnivorous monster.

Am I trying to scare him off? Maybe a little.

Instead, he picks up his burger and takes an even bigger bite, grinning around the mouthful and then saying, “Good.”

A piece of shredded lettuce falls out and he shoves it back in his mouth with a thumb, swiping at a dab of mustard too. It's actually adorable somehow, making him seem less perfect than his carefully styled blond hair and business casual outfit originally suggested.

We eat in companionable silence for a few minutes, and I get the bulk of my burger down. Thank goodness, because we’re interrupted by a guy who I’m glad didn’t drive Silas home. In other words, a bit drunk and wobbly on his feet. “Hey, Morticia, wanna dance?”

He’s chuckling like the idea is ridiculous even though he’s the one asking, and I nearly choke. I have a momentary fear that I’m going to need the Heimlich maneuver, but luckily, patting myself hard on the chest does the trick. My throat is still raw and rough-feeling when I ask, “Aren’t you afraid I’ll make your hands rot where we touch?”

I wiggle my fingers toward his and he jerks them up to his chest protectively. “Or maybe I’ll accidentally brush against a certain part when we sway and then it’ll fall off?”

I make finger quotation marks when I say accidentally and lift one brow threateningly. His hands drop from his chest to cup his dick through his jeans.

“Not funny, Morticia.”

I’m the proverbial dare, the brush with death his drunk friends have challenged him to risk, but yet I’m the ‘not funny’ one. Out of the corner of my eye, I see that Blake is watching with interest, seemingly keeping one eye on me and one eye on Drunk Dude, but not in a cross-eyed way. Though he’d probably look cute even with crossed eyes.

Focus, Zoey!

I’m done with this tonight. All I wanted was a quiet evening at home, and barring that, a quick bite and beer with Holly. Somehow, it’s turned into a pseudo-date, even though I don’t date, and I still haven’t done the paperwork for the accident.

I sigh deeply and turn my attention to Drunk Dude. I glare at him for a few seconds, and then out of nowhere, I flinch toward him and bark, “Boo!”

He jumps a foot in the air and backward at the same time like a cat that got spooked by a cucumber. I laugh instantly, not bothering to hide it this time. Screw anyone who thinks I’m up to no good.