I try to fake a smile. "Thanks for taking the time for me. I just wanted to pick your legal brain for a few minutes if you don't mind, then I'll be out of your hair—"
"Fuck that," he interrupts happily. "I always have time for you. But let's get you a drink first. We don't need to talk about work just yet."
He waves over a waitress that's floating around the seating areas. He lets go of me with one hand so he can touch the girl's elbow with a flirtatious smile, whispering our order in her ear. I swallow the furious words that want to burst out of me at his assuming what I want to drink. Or that I even want to drink.
It doesn't even matter. I'll just ask my questions and then get out of here.
He turns back to me with a smile and guides me to sit down with the hand that's still holding my arm. "So, I have to confess that I'm surprised—though extremely happy, don’t get me wrong—that you called. I knew when we ran into each other two weeks ago that we ended up back on each other's radars for a reason. I'm glad we could meet up tonight."
His eyes sparkle with excitement and I suddenly realize that this is probably not going to work out how I want it to. He thinks it's a social call, whereas I couldn't care less about fucking anyone else right now.
I shake thoughts of Tristan from my head before they can fully manifest. I try to focus on the hopeful, happy man in front of me, and how I'm going to let him down nicely while still getting the answers to my questions.
"I actually wanted to get your legal advice, if you don't mind. I have a problem—"
"Let's not talk about work," he interrupts with a wave of his hand. "We're at a bar during happy hour. Work should be the last thing we talk about."
I try to hide my wince. "It's kind of important. I wanted to talk in your office, but I know you're busy—"
Once again, he cuts me off. "My office is too stuffy. I can't have a real conversation with you there, not like I can here. I promise I'll answer your questions, but do me a favor and have a drink with me first, yeah?"
As if on cue, the waitress returns with our drinks. She hands him a beer and places a fruity cocktail in front of me. I can barely stop myself from rolling my eyes at the cliché girly drink that Jason just ordered me. Clearly, he has no idea who I am.
I sigh internally at the thought.At least he's trying.He's trying to get to know me. I can give him some of my time before I bolt out of here; I can at least give him that.
I sip the drink through the straw with a tight smile. He seems pleased with my reaction and leans back into the lounge cushions with a grin, pulling his ankle to rest on his opposite knee. He looks supremely comfortable as he stretches out his arm to rest along the top of the cushions behind me.
"So, how's life been since college?" he asks conversationally. "Other than working in the tech industry, what's Remy baby been up to?"
I smother my wince, both at the nickname and at the fact that we're actually going through with this small talk right now. But the faster I can get through it, the faster I can get my answers and get out of here.
"Life's great," I squeak. "I work a lot, and I still spend a lot of time with Jax, if you remember him. He was that guy that was always at my dorm."
Jason frowns. "Yeah, I think I remember some guy hanging all over you," he says hesitantly. "Are you two together or something?"
This time I let my wince show. This is the default reaction for both Jax and I when people assume we're together just because we're a guy and a girl. "God, no. He's just a really old friend."
Jason seems to relax at that. Unfortunately, it leads me straight into his next question. "So, are you seeing anyone right now?"
"N—no," I stutter, ignoring the sharp pain that pierces my heart. I force out a stronger response. "No, I'm not."
He reclines into the cushions again with a smile. I'm careful not to touch his arm where it's stretched behind me.
"But I spend a lot of time at the gym," I continue hurriedly, trying to keep any kind of opening away from Jason where he might ask me out. "I'm there most days after work and on the weekends."
A smirk twitches at the corners of his lips as he gives me a lazy—and very blatant—once-over. "I can tell," he purrs shamelessly. "You have a great body, Remy. Whatever you're doing is working."
I fidget nervously. I'm typically more than comfortable with flirting, but Jason is being so straightforward right now that it's coming off as sleazy. I try to breeze past the compliment.
"I got into martial arts in college," I say by way of explanation. "I started doing kickboxing and then it kind of spiraled from there."
"Like an aerobics thing?"
I frown. "No, it's a real MMA gym. I've been learning Muay Thai and jiu-jitsu for years."
His eyebrows shoot up and I think he looks at me with admiration, but then the sleazy smirk comes back. "Ooh, jiu-jitsu, huh? You should teach me some moves. Maybe we can roll together sometime—I promise I'll go easy on you."
It's his wink at the end that makes my blood boil. Not just for the sexualization of a sport that I love so much, but also because of his assumption that he could beat me.