Crazy Girl(23)

A text.

From Wren.

Wren: Really? You’re not going to respond? Not even to say no?

I snickered. Now that I was sober, well, mostly, I felt safe enough to reply.

Me: You think I’m insane. Why would you want to see me again?

He replied within seconds, shocking me.

Wren: I have your scarf.

I sneered. He wanted to see me again to give me my scarf? Don’t bother, dude.

Me: Just drop it off next time you’re in town. Or you can toss it.

Actually, I loved that scarf, but I wasn’t sure seeing him to get it back would be worth the cost paid in my dignity. I’d sacrifice the favored garment to save face. It was worth the price.

Wren: Damn, Hannah. Cold much?

Courtney, who was reading the texts with me, smirked. “He wants to see you, he just doesn’t want to admit it. He’s trying to make it about the scarf.” Was he really that prideful? Before I could continue that thought, he texted again.

Wren: I’d like to give this one more chance if you are willing.

Me: Again. You thought I was nuts. I’m not understanding why you would want to hang out with someone you thought was certifiable.

Wren: I never said ‘certifiable.’ And yes, you kind of did act crazy. But there were also moments where you were cool, too.

I looked to Courtney and blinked in confusion. “He is literally telling me he thinks I’m crazy and asking me out at the same time.”

Pulling the tie holding the knot on her head, Courtney let her hair down and said, “You did admit you were a bit crazy the other night.”

“Because he was weird,” I defended.

“Oh.” She puckered her lips. “And you’re so normal.”

I tightened my mouth. What was this? Gang Up on Hannah Day? Like I said, she was the brutal friend. “I’m weird in a different way.”

“Maybe he was nervous, Hannah. You guys barely scratched the surface of getting to know one another.”

“Ugh.” I let out a long groan, flopping back on the bed.

“If you didn’t want to hang out again, you would’ve said no by now,” she pointed out as she gathered her hair up to retie it.

I glared at her. “True. I’m just trying to understand why I’m even willing to consider it.”

“Because deep down you know there is something there. Maybe attraction, or maybe a story.”

Sitting up, I held my lower lip between my teeth as I thought about it. Everything surrounding Wren screamed at me to run the other way, but there I was, debating it.

Wren: Can I get an answer today, woman? Yes or no? This isn’t something I do, ya know.

Me: Something you do?

Wren: Beg.

I snickered.

Me: You consider this begging? You called me crazy and asked me out.

Wren: Yes or no, Hannah?

Courtney quirked her mouth up then giggled. He was winning her over. But not me. I’d made a fool of myself the other night for sure, but he’d also been rude.

Me: If I agree to this, no BS. Don’t leave me hanging. You have to say a time and be there by that time. And if you can’t then let’s just say goodbye now, no hard feelings.

Wren: Got it. I will make the time.

I let out a long breath. “This is a bad idea,” I told Courtney. She smiled then took another gulp of her water.

“Probably,” she agreed with a chuckle. “But it’ll make for a great story.”

“Hello? Hannah,” Taz called my name, drawing me out of my thoughts. He’d only just managed to get his laughter under control while I was replaying the fact I had agreed to a second date with the infamous Wren. What in the hell was I thinking? Was I mad?

Seeing I was flustered and humiliated, Taz tilted his head in a sympathetic nod. “Hey, kid. We’ve all embarrassed ourselves at some point or another. And look on the bright side, you don’t know him. You’ll probably never see him again.”

I let out an awkward laugh. “Yeah. Probably not,” I responded. I decided not to tell Taz about the second date. That way, if it did end as disastrous as the first, which I was almost positive it would, I wouldn’t have to explain it. I could just move on and really pretend I’d never met Wren.





The slip at Rus’s





What is it about humans where we can clearly see something we are about to do is a bad idea, but we do it anyway? Why? Why must we move forward into disaster?

I was a smart man. Damn smart, if I did say so myself. I was one of the most highly trained counter-terrorism and security professionals in the world. I’d been trained to read people by their mannerisms; the way they moved and spoke. Reading people was what I did best. And I had read Hannah, loud and clear. Like an open fucking book. And she was a disaster.

So why the fuck was I driving over an hour to see her again?

Why?

Asking her for a do-over had been hard for me. It showed a weakness I didn’t like. But she’d fought me on it, and if I was being honest, my alpha ego kicked in and I got caught up in the chase. She hadn’t just jumped in my lap and panted like a starving dog when I’d asked her out again. She’d ignored me.

I didn’t like that too much.

Then she’d questioned my motives. I didn’t have an answer for that. She might as well have asked me what the nuclear composition of an atom was. I had no idea, but I would’ve been more likely to answer that question than: Why would you want to see me again?