I smiled. “And then you do this repeatedly, like several times a week.”
“With the same person?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm.” He adjusted his glasses. “You lost me there.”
I slapped his arm. I liked the shirt he was wearing—dark blue, short-sleeved, with a collar and white piping. It had a light blue chest pocket with a little penguin logo on it. I liked the way he smelled too. It was cologne, but it wasn’t overly powerful. Or maybe it was his hair product or something. He looked like the kind of guy who’d use it in the effort to look like he didn’t. “You’re terrible. Aren’t you worried you’re going to end up old and bald and alone someday?”
“I think I’d look good bald, actually. I have a really nice shaped skull.” He took another bite of pizza.
I shook my head. “What about a family? Don’t you ever want a wife and kids?” In light of how attractive I was finding him tonight, I thought it might be helpful to remind myself how different we were, how we didn’t want the same things in life. Not that I was putting any stock in the whole Madam Psuka thing, but just to reassure myself…because I was having a little too much fun, and he was looking a little too good to me. Sitting a little too close.
“A wife and kids? My dad said those things are expensive,” he said with his mouth full. “And that whole loving someone completely and forever thing? I don’t think that’s for me. I’m too selfish. Doesn’t sound fun.”
There. See? He’s selfish. All he wants to do is have fun. So just keep your pants on. I sighed dramatically, reaching for my beer. “Fine. I give up. Be alone forever.”
He swallowed his bite. “Hey, you didn’t say you would be the wife. I might change my answer if that’s the case. Because your buns are amazing. And your muffin? Outstanding.”
Setting my empty glass down, I looked at him with one brow cocked. “You’d marry a girl for her buns, huh?”
He held up a hand. “Not all buns are worth matrimony, Natalie. Yours are.”
I giggled, the two beers I’d had making me feel warm and tingly. “My buns aren’t available to you.”
“I know this. Your buns have never been available to me. It’s really unfair.”
“What is?”
“Pretty soon your buns are going to be permanently off the market and I never got the opportunity to glaze them.”
I held up a hand. “Please. You were very busy glazing other buns every summer we hung out. You did not look lonely. You still don’t, for that matter.”
He placed his palm over his heart. “My loneliness is on the inside, Natalie. You can’t see it, but every morning I die a little, knowing your buns are on some other man’s plate.”
“Oh my God.” Rolling my eyes, I gave him a punch on the shoulder. “Enough. Tell you what. You get a girlfriend, I’ll give her the recipe.”
“I don’t want a girlfriend.”
“Of course you don’t. So what do you want?”
He looked at me, and a shivery feeling brushed up my spine unexpectedly.
You.
I swear to God, I thought he was going to say it, and my entire body seized up with panic. And want. And confusion. And need. But instead of answering the question, he picked up his beer and finished it. “I want another beer. You?”
“Um, water for me please. Or I won’t be able to drive home.” Suddenly I was feeling a little dizzy. “I’ll be right back. I have to go to the bathroom.”
My legs wobbled as I made my way to the ladies room. What the hell was wrong with me? Why was I acting like this? I didn’t want Miles. I wanted Dan. D-A-N Dan, right? I kept reminding myself of that as I used the bathroom, washed my hands, and stared hard at myself in the mirror over the sink. You are not a cheater.
And I wasn’t. It’s not that I never found other people attractive, but as Skylar always joked, I got the monogamy gene. I enjoyed being in a relationship, and I’d never felt stifled by it.
It’s just that Miles was doing something to me.
I have to get out of here.
As I walked back to the bar, a pretty female bartender was leaning over the bar chatting with Miles, and he was clearly turning on the charm, judging by the grin on her face. Jealousy kicked me in the gut. Not only of the way he was looking at her, but at her freedom to write her number on a coaster and slide it over to him. He’d call her, wouldn’t he? Anyone would. She had super long blonde hair and big breasts and a great smile. A Barbie doll. Maybe he’d even meet up with her tonight. Maybe they’d fuck at his parents’ house, in his old room. I’d slept in one of those beds once when we were seven or eight. Our one and only sleepover. Would he fuck her in my bed? And brag about how great it was tomorrow?