Chapter 46
“May I buy your drink, miss?” He didn’t move his beer, or even shift his posture too much; she was only two stools away, close enough to hear him without feeling the pressure of him coming too close.
“Proper grammar,” she noted, meeting his eyes boldly. “An intrepid beginning.”
“Is that a yes?” Chandler sighed. Gods, sometimes he hated women; was nothing ever cut and dried with them? Everything was some verbal sparring match, some game where he was expected to be witty, charming, psychic, and unexpected, without being quite too much unexpected. And the penalties for losing were always the same.
“It’s not yet a no. Why do you wish to do so?” She gestured to the stool next to her with one hand, holding her drink up to admire it with the other.
That was the question. The wrong answer meant crash and burn. The right answer…well, he’d just have to see if he could come up with that. “Mostly? Because I like your shoes.”