Page 85 of Bulletproof
I crossed my arms and looked over at him. “I guess the clueless one because I am completely lost right now.”
He nodded before raking his fingers through his hair. “Okay, so do you spend two hours a day, every day at a tanning salon?”
“Pardon?”
“I’m guessing not.”
“Please explain,” I pressed him.
“Do you own a tanning bed?”
I snorted out a laugh. “No.”
He sucked in a breath. “Do you dye your hair blond, or is it natural?”
“It’s called dirty blond,” I said, chuckling. “And I was born with it.”
His lips pressed together tight. “And have you had any work done to your face?”
I squinted at him. “What is this about?”
He took a step back and gestured at himself. “I work at this. You’re naturally beautiful, but I have—”
“Please,” I scoffed. “You’re—”
“I’m twenty-three. How old are you?”
“What?”
“You heard me. How old are you?”
“I’m twenty-seven,” I said with a yawn.
“Really?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“You don’t look it.”
I was so lost. “Could you just—”
“Jory, are you fuckin’ kidding? Look at me.”
“I am looking at you.”
“But you’re not seeing me.”
“I am,” I said, sitting up, really paying attention. “And can I tell you that I have the weirdest feeling that we’ve met somewhere before?”
“We haven’t, but I remind you of someone, right?”
“Yeah. Who?”
“You, asshole!”
He had so left me way behind in the dust.
“I’m sorry?”
