I’m Spencer,” I say, and offer a hand to shake. I tilt my head and flash him the biggest shit-eating grin, because I’m the lucky son-of-a-bitch who goes home with her in this scenario. As if I’m the one who gets to touch this body, thread his fingers through her hair, and look into those eyes. I slide in and brush a hand on her lower back, as if she’s mine. I walk around the bar and head straight for Charlotte, right as Handlebar reaches her and says his name, then asks for hers. Which is another reason why this tactic is brilliant-we both know we will never be more than friends. I need her too much as a friend, and judging from the number of times she’s laughed with me, or cried on my shoulder, she needs me too. It also works because Charlotte and I would never be a real couple. It’s a game we’ve played since college, and it works like a charm. If either of us needs a fake girlfriend or boyfriend to gracefully get out of a sticky situation, we’ve sworn to step in and act the part. But we made a pact long ago, and re-upped when we went into business together on this bar. She flinches, startled that this guy just invaded her blinders-on work zone.Ĭharlotte can totally handle herself. He snags the stool next to her and flashes a toothy grin. He’s only aware that she’s gorgeous, so he’s about to make his play. Next, she possesses a fantastic dry sense of humor.īut Handlebar doesn’t know those last two.
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