“Rachel, come sit with us,” Alice said, giving her a pointed look.
She glanced at Jamie, who just looked knowingly amused. Rolling her eyes, she gave up and joined them. “Thank you,” she said as she sat down.
He pushed the chair in, his hands brushing her shoulders. He set the chair Erik brought over for him next to hers, even though there was barely any room. “Stay where you are,” he said, putting his hand on her arm when she started to scoot over to give him space. “It’s fine.”
Didier moved a chair to sit next to Alice. “That was more enjoyable than I expected. Is this how people meet in America?”
Alice laughed. “Hardly. I usually don’t meet anyone.”
Didier watched her over the rim of his wineglass. “You don’t want to date?”
“Of course I want to date.” Alice shrugged. “It’s just hard to meet someone I want to date.”
“Who do you want to date?” Didier asked.
“Someone nice.”
The three men looked at each other.
Alice noticed it too. She looked between the three of them, hesitant. “Is that weird?”
Jamie shook his head. “That’s what Erik is looking for too.” He glanced at Rachel. “Is that what you want too?”
No, she wanted him. Somehow, she didn’t thinknicewas quite the right word for him. “It’s what anyone wants,” she replied vaguely.
“What makes a nice guy?” he asked her, his gaze super focused.
“Low numbers,” she said to deliberately needle him. “No woman wants a guy who’s gotten it on with half the population.”
She almost grinned at his frown.
“Not flashy,” Alice added. “And not puffed up.”
“Puffed up?” Didier looked confused. “Fat?”
Alice shook her head. “Stuck up. Arrogant.”
Lounging in his seat, Didier considered this with a nod. “Is it arrogant if you think you’re an excellent lover?”
“Not if you can back it up,” Rachel said.
“Bon.” He reached across the table to pat Jamie on the arm. “You should be okay too.”
She laughed, and then she laughed harder when Jamie poked her in her side.
Alice was apparently on a roll because she kept ticking off items on her fingers. “Someone who’ll open the door for you. Someone who’ll get along with your friends and family. Someone who won’t mansplain you.”
The blond—Erik was his name—raised his hand. “What’s ‘mansplain’?”
“When a man assumes a woman has no clue and explains something she already knows,” Rachel said. She looked at Jamie. “If you told me how to mow my lawn, that’d be mansplaining because I’m already good at it.”
She saw Jamie raise his brow, but his lips were slightly curved like he was amused. Cripes, he was hot.
“Then it’s official.” Didier smacked his hand on the table. “I am a nice guy.”
“And you have the boxers to prove it,” Erik said dryly.
Jamie started to laugh.