And another arch. Freaking men! “Reid . . . this is . . . assault.”
He jumped off me and hit “Stop” on the camera. “So, I think that went well.”
“No,” I huffed. “Not well. We’re doing it again and sticking to the script I wrote out for both of us!”
“Script? That’s for movies—this is life.”
“The hell it is! This is my job!”
“Mine too!” His voice rose an octave. “And people will like this a hell of a lot better than the shit you write out.” He grabbed my notepad. “Tell him he looks nice.”
“Give me that!”
He held it high above his head. “Compliment his shoes?”
“It works!” I argued, still trying to grab the notepad away.
“If you’re gay!”
“Lots of straight men respond to that compliment!”
“Because they think if they say thank you they can get in your pants! Damn, are you really this dense?”
I finally wrenched my notepad free and slapped him with it. “Are you really this childish?”
“I’m not the one doing the hitting.”
I hit him again. Because I could. “My relationship advice was to compliment the person you want to go out with. Not lick their hand, pat their hair down, call them names, then crush them with two hundred and twenty-five pounds of muscle until they nearly break in half!”
“Two ten,” he corrected.
I opened my mouth, then snapped it shut, slamming my notepad onto the table. “We’re doing it again. My way.”
Reid yawned.
“Oh, please.” I snorted, jerking my computer from the table. “You just don’t want to do it my way because you don’t know how to get a girl. Admit it!”
“Oh, yeah?”
“YES!”
“Want to know what my research taught me today?”
“How to read?”
His eyes narrowed as he tugged my computer away from me. “No. It taught me this. Be real. Be honest. And at least if you don’t secure a date you know it wasn’t you—but them.”
“Well.” I licked my lips and looked down. “As far as advice goes, that isn’t horrible.”
He handed me back my computer.
“And you didn’t even hit ‘Stop’ on the screen.”
“Yeah, I did.”
“No.” I tried sliding my finger over the mouse pad. “You didn’t, and somehow I just froze my computer.”
Reid frowned. “Let me see.”
“Fine.” Done arguing, I handed it over while he tapped a few keys, then tried to double-click the mouse.
“Stop clicking all over the screen, you’re just going to make it worse!”
“Stop looking over my shoulder like I’m looking at PORN so I can concentrate!”
I sat back and crossed my arms.
Reid’s eyebrows furrowed. “What the hell—”
“What?”
He paled.
“Reid?”
“Uh . . .”
“Reid. What. Did. You. Do?”
“You know the difference between a live feed and just recording a video, right?”
I clenched my hands into tiny balls, my nails digging into my palms. “Please, I know how to use a computer.”
“I know, but—”
I grabbed the computer and stared at the screen. It was still frozen. And the little line above the video was green.
As in live.
The video was live.
For the world to see.
“No.” I shook my head and pounded the mouse pad with my thumb. “No. No. No. No.”
“Everything okay in there?” Max called.
“YES!” Reid shouted while I went into a catatonic state, my eyes glued to the screen—the screen I no longer had control over.
Reid very slowly peeled the computer from my death grip and set it on the coffee table. “It could be worse.”
“That’s our catchphrase—it could be worse.” I started chewing my nail.
Reid batted my thumb away. “Bad habit.”
“My parents are going to see you seducing the crap out of me. Oh, crap, the arching! I was arching!”
“Now she admits it.”
“And the world is going to think I’m a hussy! Damn it, Reid, let me chew!”
He sighed and ran his hands through his glossy dark hair. “Look, is it really that bad? Jordan, life isn’t scripted. And honestly, if that’s what you’re looking for, then I think I’m out.”
“Out?” I seethed. “You can’t be out! It will ruin you! Think of Max.”
“Woman has a point,” Max yelled.
“NOT NOW!” I shouted back, my voice vibrating off the high ceiling.
“Come on.” Reid grinned. “Don’t you ever just . . . let your hair down?”
A snicker came through the wall.
I gave the wall—and the man behind it—my middle finger.
“Last time I let my hair down, I had people calling me Mufasa.”
Reid choked back a laugh.
“A Rafiki sticker decorated my locker for two weeks.” Sadly, I hadn’t cared, because it was the one time in high school people actually paid attention to me.
“Nants ingonyama!” Reid sang.
My hair chose that inopportune moment to stand erect, Alfalfa style. Always good to know The Lion King did it for my hair—no shame in that sad fact. None at all.
“Sorry.” He licked his lips. “Tell you what . . . I spent the better part of my day learning how to date from my brother, which, as much as I’d like to say was pointless, actually has me questioning my entire childhood, since I discovered my mother used to lie in order for Max to get chicks.”