Creep. R.M. Greenaway

he knew he had blown it, and her supernatural smile faded. He couldn’t blame her. He had blurted it out like an amateur, putting her on the spot, leaving no graceful exit. He was worse than out of practice, he was back to Flirting 101.

      He went babbling on, seeing it coming, but too late to pull out. “If you wanted to go for a beer or something. Only if you felt like it, of course, though I know it’s late.”

      She reached out to almost touch his arm, but drew back. “It’s not you. It’s completely me. I didn’t expect this really kind offer. You see, I’ve just gotten myself out of a few binds, and I’ve promised myself to take a year off, kind of thing.”

      Dion’s only goal right now was to pay his bill and leave. “It was just beer,” he assured her, wallet out. He could feel himself blushing, even as he smiled at her. “That’s all. No strings.”

      “No strings? Is there any such thing?”

      “No, I get it, sure,” he said, knowing he sounded like a man who didn’t get anything. “I understand. It’s a messed-up world. Even one damn beer can turn into a custody battle, right?”

      She nodded, but doubtfully.

      “In fact, I’m the same. Strings make me nervous. So there we go. Lucky us.”

      “I’m sorry,” she said.

      “Don’t be.”

      “And, of course, there’s Stef.”