"Do you see any cookies? I'm not hiding them in my undies."
He smiles at me, the expression full of sly humor. "You know what biscuits are. Damn that Chance. How can I confuse you the way he did with Elena if you already know all the British words? It's not fair at all."
"Trust me, I'm plenty confused."
"But I meant to charm you with my Britishisms." He glances at my skimpy shorts, his gaze traveling up to my slightly oversize T-shirt and its alien face---and to my breasts. "I want to charm the fuck out of you, Luscious."
Oh yeah, my player vibe is screaming again.
"My name is Arden." I hook a finger under his chin, lifting it until he has no choice but to look at my face. "Arden Clover Pesti. Not Luscious. Got it?"
"If you insist."
"Thank you."
He jams his hands in his jeans pockets and peers into the fridge again. "How can a girl who sleeps with aluminium foil on her head be so uptight?"
"Alu-what? I guess that's British for aluminum foil." I fold my arms over my chest. "I'm not uptight. But I don't know you, and nicknames are things friends or relatives give each other."
"Fair point." He shuts the fridge. "I'll hold off on calling you Luscious."
"I appreciate that. Now, do you like pizza?"
"Yes, I love it. Love a good takeaway, full stop."
"Takeaway's British for takeout, right?"
"Yes."
"Okeydokey," I say, turning toward the bar, where the landline phone is. "I'll order some pizza."
Reese excuses himself to go unpack and change into different clothes. The stuff he's wearing looks fine to me, but whatever. I make the pizza call and sit down on the sofa to wait for the delivery to arrive. Reese comes out of his room a few minutes later and takes a seat at the other end of the sofa from me. He's wearing pajama pants and a T-shirt that has a red rose on it with the words "England Rugby" underneath it.
Pointing at his shirt, I say, "Guess you're a rugby fan."
"Yes, but I also played rugby at school."
"Let me guess. You were the star player."
He shrugs, almost seeming shy about it. "Maybe I was, but it's a team sport. Couldn't have won games by myself."
"Is rugby like soccer?"
"Similar, but with differences. And we call that other sport football, not soccer." He glances down at his clothes. "I almost wore my Manchester United shirt."
I probably look confused. Manchester what? Honestly, why do British people assume Americans understand them?
Reese smiles. "Manchester United is a football team."
"And by football, you mean soccer."
He rolls his eyes, huffing. "No, I mean football. You Americans have a bloody stupid idea of what that word means."
"And you Brits are so damn arrogant about your sports. I mean, it's only a game."
"Onlya game?" He gapes at me like I've suggested the sun is nothing more than a forty-watt light bulb. "Don't tell Kyle you said that. He worships American football and is obsessed with stock car racing."
"Yeah, I know. That's why I've never dated Kyle, besides the fact he's my best friend's brother."