Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

LAYLA

Feeling like death—and nursing one hell of a hangover—I'm moving as slow as hell this morning.

I totally blame Jorge…even if this is equally my fault.

What the hell did we do last night?

This is the worst fucking hangover.

Groaning, I stand over the kitchen sink and force myself to chug a glass of Liquid IV while I down a few ibuprofen.

I'll thank myself for that in about an hour.

These are the mornings I'm grateful for a well-stocked fridge of store-bought cold brew. I don't think I could drag myself to the corner coffee shop if I tried. After pouring a glass of the good stuff and adding a splash of vanilla-flavored creamer, I grab my phone and curl up into the corner of the light gray loveseat with a fluffy blanket.

Sipping my iced coffee, I work up the nerve to look at the ridiculous amount of notifications on my phone. Jorge and I were swiping right way too liberally with beer— or whiskey— goggles for this not to be disastrous.

Opening the app, I hesitate for a moment before clicking on my inbox. The first message immediately sets the tone and matches my unease about how this is going to go.

"Of course, the guy that likes to stuff and collect dead things would match back. We say no to taxidermy," I grumble. He might be absolutely gorgeous, but that alone isn't nearly enough to erase fifteen seasons of Criminal Minds from my memory.

Continuing to read through the notifications, I could absolutely kill Jorge… The men matching back and flooding my inbox with atrocious pickup lines could not be any further from the type of men I date. If there is any algorithm to this app, I'm going to be swiping left for months after last night to fix this.

"Oh my God!" I exclaim when I see the notification from Tristan. I cannot believe the asshole actually had the audacity to match with me. Making it two words into his message, I let out an annoyed sigh and reread it contemplating my next move.

I'm sorry about last night with the drink.

Under any other circumstances, I would have stopped to apologize in person.

And thoroughly made it up to you.

Damn it.

Great… Now I feel like the asshole.

How exactly do you plan to make it up to me?

You just had to actually be a walking green flag and lead with an apology…

Are you actually upset that I didn't completely ignore my brother spilling a drink all over your beautiful dress?

My takeaway from this should not be that he liked my dress, yet the fact he noticed is really all I can think about.

Yes, actually, I am.

Because now I feel the jerk for only swiping right to let you know you're an asshole.

It's not every day I start my morning with a beautiful woman calling me an asshole.

Is he flirting with me?

I trust that Quinn thoroughly took care of you last night, but I would still prefer to buy you a replacement in person.

Quinn???

And I'm not sure I'm ever drinking whiskey again.

I might never be drinking anything ever again.

The bartender.

Fine, no drinks.

Dinner. Tomorrow night.

It'll give you the opportunity to call me an asshole to my face.

I read his message over and over, trying to convince myself why I should say no. When I swiped on his photo, I had no intention of ever seeing him again.

Or did I?

There is no denying that twinge of lusty what-if I felt when we locked eyes last night. My thumbs linger on the screen of my phone, and I weigh my decision.

He's significantly older than the guys I usually date, yet also significantly hotter. According to his profile, he's an entrepreneur— dating app code for either unemployed or a successful business owner. His appearance last night leaves me thinking he's the latter. And based on what little conversation we've had this morning, he seems to be charming.

And normal.

Fuck it.

7pm.

Are you asking or telling me?

I'll ask if you prefer.

But I'm a man very used to getting exactly what I want.

Heated crimson flush creeps over my cheeks as I read his message. Had it come from the taxidermist or any of the other men in my inbox, I would probably be repulsed by the misogynist undertones. But for some reason, I'm intrigued by Tristan. Intrigued enough not to say no.