“I don’t want your pity.” “Pity?” I ask as she moves her hand to reveal the hundred-dollar bill I left her with my number on it. “Yes. I don’t need a ridiculous tip from you because you feel sorry for me.” My smile is slow and deliberate. “And here I thought you were pissed because I left my phone number on it. Whew.” I mock wipe my brow. “So that means you did want my phone number then? Good. At least I read that right.” Her glare is adorable. The flush to her cheeks. The defiance in her stance. “You’re not cute.” “People tend to tell me I’m more sexy or brooding over cute so yes, I agree
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