Eden wanted to stick her tongue out at him, but that would have required her to stop eating tacos. After her pork one, she had chicken with jalapeños and aioli, lamb and purple cabbage, and a fish taco so sweet and lemony, she almost cried. She asked for another margarita, washing everything down with giant gulps and when hers was finished, Willow pushed his to her side of the table. She kept going, eating and drinking as greedily as when she was nine and let loose at her grandmother’s high teas. When two-thirds of the platter was empty, she couldn’t eat anymore. She licked lime and prawn juice from her fingers and sighed. “Oh my god.”

“Good?”

She blinked at Willow and realised she’d just done a taco speedrun in front of a guy she wanted to fuck later. “I… Yeah. Thanks. I guess I was hungry.”

He smiled, no trace of ‘I told you so’ on his face. “Anytime.”

As he looked at her, a stain spread across his freckled cheeks. He was shy around her, or at least self-conscious. Eden sipped his margarita. “So… you’re into me?”

He nodded, the stain on his cheeks growing darker.

Cute.

A slick taste washed through her mouth, and she remembered the message she’d sent to him earlier this morning. Cute was well and good, but what about realism? She put down the margarita. “I don’t want to be a jerk, but I meant what I said. I’m not looking for anything serious. I work crazy hours and I’m not into what I think you’re into.”

Willow leaned forward, his chest distractingly visible between the V of his shirt collar. “What am I into?”

“Oh, you know. Picnics. Fishing trips. Group dinners where everyone owns a Jeep Cherokee.”

He grinned. “You’ve got me all figured out.”

“Tell me you don’t want a serious girlfriend.”

He ducked his head, grinning at the table.

Eden pointed a sticky finger at him. “See! You do! Willow, seriously, you’re cute, but I’m not that girl.”

“What kind of girl are you?”

“Did you see me on stage? With the veil and the high heels?”

“I did. You were the sexiest thing I’d ever looked at.”

Eden froze. He said it so easily, it cut a little. Weren’t they supposed to be playing games? Being kinda mean to each other? Willow stuck an elbow on the table. “You think I’m basic, don’t you?”

She snorted, relieved he’d said it. “I do.”

“You’re wrong.”

She looked at him in his neat denim shirt. “Okay...”

“I’m not basic. I’ve done things. I have a reputation.”

“Sure you do.”

“Call up anyone I’ve played footy with and they’ll tell you. I’m a wild man.”