Bree squinted. “He’s really hot, though. You’ve at least got to admit that much.”
It felt like she’d been reading my mind. I squirmed uncomfortably, then snatched the nail polish from her and started doing my own toes, since she seemed content to sit and talk instead of help. “He also smells weirdly good, and he just looks more and more handsome as the night goes on. But guess what? Landon’s looks matter about as much to me as the make and model of a car coming toward me at high speed.”
“It’s not like that at all.”
“And you know because you googly eyed him in the lobby for like, two minutes? Because good looking men couldn’t possibly be bad?”
“No,” Bree said. “Because an ordinary guy couldn’t handle you, I’ve watched them try. You overpower everybody who tries to get close to you.”
“You say that like it’s a good thing. But couldn’t an argument be made that I should make myself easier to handle?”
“Does a king cobra apologize for being poisonous and terrifying?”
“No…” I said slowly. “Because they are venomous. If them biting you makes you sick, they are venomous. If you biting them makes you sick, they are poisonous.”
Bree waved off my comment. “Nobody cares. I’m just saying it sounds like Landon might be the first guy who can put up with you. Are you really willing to just walk away from that without giving it a shot?”
“I don’t know, but why does everybody seem to want to compare me to animals that bite lately?”
“Good question,” Bree said. “A better question is what you’re going to do about it? Are you going to stop biting, or are you going to keep chomping away until you find a man who can handle a little nibble here and there?”
I laughed. “Seriously. I’m pretty sure I’ve never bitten anyone in my entire life. But I do get the point you’re making. The problem is that just ‘handling’ me doesn’t equate to a guy being a good match. Besides, ever since Landon heard I was a Wainwright, he seemed pretty dead set on hating me.”
“And what about before that?”
“You mean the, what, thirty seconds I talked to him in front of the vending machine? He was nicer, yeah. But somehow, I don’t think that matters.”
“Of course, it does. It means he liked you until he knew who you were. So, all you need to do is show him you’re not the person he thinks you are.”
“What?” I asked.
“Think about it. He started acting different when he heard your last name. In other words, he already had some idea about who you were. He let that idea override what his own eyes were telling him.”
“And how would he have a previously held idea about who I am?”
Bree shrugged. “He’s a man of mystery. Bonus points.”
“None of it matters. I could happily live the rest of my life without that asshole.”
“You just said he was nice when you first met.”
“Okay? And then he stacked like three hours of asshole on his two seconds of nice.” I made a gesture with my hands like I was measuring the two on a scale. No matter what came out of my mouth, I wasn’t sure I really believed he was an asshole. I’d seen too many cracks in the mask to really fall for it.
Bree was looking at me in that annoyingly persistent way of hers. “I don’t know,” she said wistfully. “I’ve just never seen you talk about a guy like this.”
“Like I’m irritated by the idea that he exists?”
“Or like maybe he got under your skin.”
I sighed. “What is it you’re wanting me to say? I mean, yeah, part of me wonders if he and I would hypothetically be a good match in some alternate universe. I’ve also wondered if a random hot guy in the coffee shop would be a good kisser, but that doesn’t mean I went up and tried to make out with him.”
“I don’t want you to say anything. I just wanted to plant some information in that stubborn head of yours. You like him, even though you’re pretending you don’t.”
My sister was officially delusional. “The part you’re forgetting is that he doesn’t like me. My feelings about him are irrelevant. Maybe he’s the one you need to be pestering.”
“You’re just not used to men who aren’t intimidated by you. And you’re mistaking confidence for disinterest.”
“I intimidate people? Since when?”
“You don’t care what anyone thinks of you. And you do tend to say inappropriate things at inappropriate times. You also have horrible bathroom etiquette. I’ve been meaning to mention that.”
I set down the nail polish and stood, not caring if I was smearing nail polish on the carpet. “Bathroom etiquette? What do you mean, like I forget to say please and thank you before and after taking a dump?”