Nobody's Fool by Sarah Hegger Page A

shallower.” His expression grew grim. “I used to do things like that. They were, sort of, my thing. If you know what I mean?”
    â€œYour thing?” This was good. It simply never occurred to her someone this beautiful and self-assured ever did any of the cringeworthy stuff mere mortals floundered around in.
    â€œYou know, um, like my angle.”
    â€œYour angle ?”
    â€œJesus.” He rapped the steering wheel. “You’re a real hard-ass, you know that?”
    Holly smirked.
    â€œMy angle, my thing with girls is what I mean. I used to use lines like that to pick up girls,” he said.
    â€œWhat?” Freaking unbelievable! Holly turned fully sideways. No easy feat with wet jeans in a bucket seat.
    Josh threw her a quick glance and rapped his forehead on the steering wheel once, and then again, as if he hadn’t quite achieved his original objective. “This is humiliating.” He stared at the windshield. “I would, for instance, walk up to a group of girls, work myself into the group, and suggest . . . um . . . a sort of game.”
    â€œGame?”
    â€œEr . . . um . . . yes. Like the one those girls suggested.”
    â€œYou didn’t?” Holly was torn between disbelief and horror at the sheer audacity.
    â€œI did,” he said in a small voice. “I sort of had this article written about me. An online blog thing about Chicago’s bachelors, and it was mentioned in there.” Color climbed up over his cheeks as he spoke. “And since then, every now and again, one of those games resurfaces and it happens like it did tonight. I only did it tonight to piss you off. Normally, I don’t. I mean, I haven’t for . . . years.”
    Holly spun around in her seat. The extended car hood snaked across the road, low and lean.
    â€œAnd that worked for you?” She couldn’t quite believe any woman could be that stupid.
    â€œLike a charm.” He gave her a huge unrepentant grin. “You would not believe how well it worked.”
    â€œHmph.”
    He had a near-perfect profile. Nauseating.
    The traffic eased and they were able to crawl onto the highway. He picked up speed.
    â€œOf course,” she said, not wanting to give him the last word, “it only works because of the way you are. Anyone else would have their face slapped.”
    â€œI’m funny and I’m charming?”
    Oh, that was a good one. “It’s because you’re hot. It has nothing at all to do with your personality.”
    Through the open window the wind cooled her face. Somewhere in this city, her sister was hiding. Portia was on a high when she left, but what goes up surely must come down, and that was what scared the pants off Holly.
    â€œSo you think I’m hot?”
    Holly jerked her attention back to her companion. He looked altogether too smug for her liking. “You know you’re hot.”
    â€œBut you think so?”
    Was he fishing? “What do you care?”
    Why exactly had she started this line of conversation? Holly wriggled in her seat. Her jeans made rude noises against the leather and she stopped. She was being a wuss. Holly Partridge was a fully actualized, independent, master—in the generic—of her destiny. This conversation was not making her uncomfortable.
    He glanced in her direction. “But you do?”
    â€œLots of girls do.” He was like a terrier with a rat.
    â€œYeah,” he said and grinned at her. “But lots of girls don’t want to rip my arms off and beat me to death with them.”
    â€œAnd your point is?” He’d given her a rather pleasant visual to go with.
    â€œWhen you say I’m hot, you mean it.”
    â€œOkay.” She rolled her eyes, not sure why she was allowing herself to be dragged into his game, but going anyway. “I think you’re hot. Happy now?” Boy, like his ego needed any more stroking. “I think we should start