She probably thinks she wants a meathead; some guy who spends all his time in the gym, lifting weights so he looks incredible. Good-looking. Hot.

I know she thinks I’m too skinny for her; a bit nerdy, even, though that’s not the case at all. Far from it—I spent most of my college career surrounded by athletes and picked up most of their personality traits: cockiness, ego, and confidence.

The last thing I need to feel good about myself is a pretty girl on my arm. I know I’m not handsome, but I have a great fucking job for someone my age and a renewed respect in the campus community (thanks mostly to Annabelle and her dad). So I’m a fucking catch—Hannah just doesn’t care.

Which does not make her the girl for me.

Which means I’m not going to chase her.

Help her, yes. Chase her? Uh, no.

“You’re not terrible, just rusty. When was your last date?”

For a few seconds, she looks affronted. “Not that long ago—I mean. Actually, it wasn’t technically my date? I was on a double date with my roommate and her boyfriend, and his roommate—but she was dating his roommate at the time and…” I must have a confused expression on my face because she stops and laughs. “Never mind, long story. The point is, my last date was maybe a few months ago, and it wasn’t an actual date.” She pauses. “Oh. And I fought with the guy. But like I said, he wasn’t my date.”

I give my head a shake. “I’m not going to ask questions or try to figure out what the hell any of that meant.”

“You know, if a guy is going to like me for me, don’t you think I should drop the pretense and just be myself?”

Yes.

“Pretending to be polite, and sweet, and…classy is way too much work.” Hannah cranes her neck, searching the room for the server. When she makes eye contact with one, she calls the guy over. “I think we’re ready to order, the little guy here is ravenous.”

She winks at me. Gives the server her order first.

“I think I need a beer? And a burger—hold the onion, but add pickles? Cheddar cheese. Mayo on the side, some ranch dressing, and I’ll take the burger medium well.” She hands the kid the menu. “Thanks.”

So, she nixed the onions after all.

I hide a smile, stifling a chuckle and hand over my menu, too. “I’ll have the same.”

HANNAH

“I think everything you do and say is false bravado.”

“I’m sorry—what?”

He shoves a fry in his mouth. “You’re adorable and sexy and all, but you’re basically showboating because you’re a chickenshit.”

Showboating? Chickenshit? “I am not! What makes you say that?”

Another fry goes in his gullet. He chews slowly and I want to strangle him. Oh my god, hurry up and spit the words out!

Instead, he takes his sweet time, taking another fry from the basket and dipping it in ketchup. Poke, poke. “You avoid getting hurt by being funny and making fun of guys, but it’s because deep down inside you’re scared.”

In goes the fry.

“What makes you say that? We just met.”

He grins, still chewing. “I know your type.”

I roll my eyes hard, chewing my fry like a cow chewing on cud, half the end hanging out of my mouth. So classy. “My type?” I add a snort to let him know he doesn’t know shit. “And what type would that be?”

“Don’t get me wrong; I’m not judging you. I’m just going by what I already know—you don’t like putting on a show, but use it as a defense, too. Like, what are you afraid of?” Rex picks up his burger, taking a bite. Licks stray ketchup from the corner of his mouth that squished out of the bun when he bit down.

“That’s stupid. Why would I use honesty as a shield?” Give me a break, that makes no sense. “I’m online because I want a boyfriend, not so I can push guys away.”

Duh.

“Easy.” He takes a napkin from the tabletop and wipes his face, balling it up and throwing it down. “You’re way more aggressive than you have to be—you said yourself you got into an argument on your last date.” He uses air quotes around the word date, and my eyes narrow. “Why is that if you’re trying to meet someone?”

“I…” I pause and twist my lips. My mouth opens, then closes. “He…” was an asshole. A prick. A pompous windbag.

A douchebag.

Plus, he kept trying to hit on me while he was on a date with my roommate, so I was doing him a favor by being a bitch and not kicking him in the nutsack.

You’re welcome, JB, for not sacking you in the balls like you deserved.

“You know, I’m really sweet once you get to know me. And I would do anything for my good friends—anything.”

“But?” He pauses, waiting to take another bite of his food, so he can listen.

“But…it might maybe take a bit before I let you in. Not you, specifically—I meant people. A person.” Shit, I’m fidgeting with the straw in my water glass and release it so I can take a swig of my beer. Maybe that will calm my sudden case of nerves. “Someone I might want to date, I mean.”

Why do I care what this guy thinks? We’re not on a date and he’s not my type.

Like, at all.

I take in his button down shirt—a baby blue dress shirt he has untucked. Dark jeans. Preppy, light leather boat shoes.

Dorky, but cute and kind of adorable. Nerdy Sexy, I once heard someone coin the phrase when she was panting after the dorky teaching assistant in her biology class.

Nerdy is indeed the new sexy. Not that I would call Rex a nerd, exactly—he doesn’t seem like he was the studious type. Probably not a gamer, either. Just…skinny, with a goofy grin. Teeth are a bit too big for his mouth, though his lips are shaped nice. Narrower frame, nothing bulky; he might work out, but probably just runs to stay in shape.

My eyes stray to the small triangle of skin exposed in the open collar of his button down shirt, straining to detect whether or not he has hair on his chest.

I wonder what his body looks like with no clothes on…

Stop it, Hannah.

“Thanks for clarifying.” Rex lifts a fry and almost has it to his mouth before he drops his hand and asks, “Why do you suppose that is? Did something happen to you to make you so…”

“Distrustful?” I avert my gaze, staring at my cheeseburger with a rueful little laugh. “No. I’m just a spaz, that’s all.”

I like my friends, what can I say? Women make me feel comfortable and my good friends are my security blankets. What’s so wrong with that?

The fact that you can’t put yourself out there and make yourself available, that’s what’s wrong with that.

“Oh my god, would you shut up.” I say out loud, to myself, oblivious to the fact Rex is now staring at me like I’ve sprouted two horns, a tail, and whiskers.

“Excuse me?” A fry dangles from his lips.

“Um. Sorry, I was just…” Talking to myself. “I was—that wasn’t. I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

Wow, I’m a bigger head case than I thought I was and now he’s going to think I’m crazy.