25. Reese

I manage to drag Skyler out of the bedroom. Quite a feat, considering he was sporting a noticeable woodie, and I was sporting less noticeable wet panties. As much as I want to wrap my hands around that pole of his and see if we can reenact the other night, we seriously need to set some ground rules first.

I push him into a seat at the table and set a bowl of soup in front of him. He seems mollified by the food, so I settle into the chair next to him. He extends his legs, slipping my ankles over his long limbs.

Trying to ignore how nice it feels to be touching him, I arrange my silverware in front of me. “So, how often do you find dates?”

He shoves a spoonful into his mouth. “Often enough.”

I frown. “How many dates do you think you went on this last year?”

He’s fiddling with his spoon, the tips of his ears turning red.

“None?”

He looks up at me, lips pressed together.

“Less than ten?”

He tilts his head and focuses on his dinner again.

“Less than twenty?”

He stares into the distance, chewing a mouthful.

“Skyler Paul.”

His eyes meet mine. “How do you know my middle name?”

“How many innocent women did you take on fruitless dates last year?”

He shrugs. “Somewhere between forty and fifty, probably.”

“All first dates?”

He pokes at his stew. “Is that bad?”

“Only if you’re a psychopath.”

I immediately want the word back. I said I’d help him and so far, I’m just trying to shame him. But he’s chuckling.

“Did you take any of those girls on a second date?”

“No.”

“Because you didn’t want to or because they didn’t want to?”

He shrugs again. “Yes.”

I growl at him. “I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.”

He runs his hand over the back of his head and sits back. “Yeah, I know. I just usually like to keep things private. This is unfamiliar territory for me.”

“You and the guys don’t talk?”

He looks up, and me and shakes his head, making a sound of disgust. “No.”

“Why the hell not?”

He grins. “Too busy braiding each other’s hair and painting each other’s nail, I guess.”

“Sexist.”

He chuckles. “Add it to the list of things to fix, then.”

“There’s no list.”

He meets my gaze. “There will be.”

He looks away, thinking it over. “I don’t like telling people about my problems because first comes problems, then comes pity, and I fucking hate pity.”

“Do you feel like you get pity from me?”

“No. You’re pretty much the only one.”

He picks up his spoon again. “That’s why you’re the one and only person I’d agree to do this with.”

That fills me with a little thrill of pleasure. The one and only.

The one and only one to fix Skyler up with a woman who will take him away from me.

But that’s what I want, right?

Freedom?

Can’t fly if you’re holding somebody’s hand.

“So, where are you finding most of these dates of yours?”

“Mixer.”

“Like speeding dating?”

He laughs. “No. It’s an app.”

“Do you have a profile and everything?”

He nods.

“Show me.”

He groans, reluctantly pulling his phone out of his pocket. “This is fantastically uncomfortable for me.”

“Now you know how I felt last night.”

“But there was nothing wrong with you last night. You were amazing.”

I poke him in the arm, taking his cell from him. “There’s nothing wrong with you, either. For the record, I think you're pretty damn amazing, too.”

Our gazes connect for a few beats before we tear them away. Back to the banter, back to the safety of light jokes and easy smiles. I hold out his phone so he can unlock it. He scans his finger, unlocking it, before flipping to the app in question.

Mixer opens up on his screen, a martini glass stirs across the screen until his profile opens up.