Page 149 of Bridesmaid Undercover
“Uh, I said it first, therefore, if you say the same thing, that would beyoucopyingme.”
“I have my own opinions.”
“Uh-huh, okay, so then, Mr. I Have My Own Opinions, what is your favorite cronut flavor?”
“Matcha Oreo,” he says.
“Oh my God.” I dramatically roll my eyes. “There you go, copying me.”
“Nope.” He shakes his head. “Do you know how I know I’m not the one copying you?”
“Oh, this should be good—please, enlighten me.”
He smirks. “Because I’m older than you, by so many years that you couldn’t even pay for a cronut by yourself a few years ago—therefore, I win.”
Expression flat, I turn to him. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Nope.”
“First of all, I appreciate you acknowledging the many years between us, it’s about damn time. Second of all, I could buy a cronut by myself for several years ago, because I’ve been working since I was thirteen and I’ve been saving since then as well. So, yeah, I would have been able to buy one. And thirdly, my generation is more open to things like cronuts, whereas yours tends to be stuck in the mud when it comes to trying new things.”
“Uh…not fucking true. I grew up in the age of technology. The reason you have a phone with apps on it is because of me.”
“Oh, so you invented the first iPhone?” I slowly clap. “My God, I didn’t know I had a technological marvel in my car.”
“You do,” he says, chin held high. “If it wasn’t for my generation accepting technology and allowing social media into our lives, you wouldn’t even know what a cronut was because you never would have seen it go viral. So I believe a thank-you is in order.” He leans his ear in toward me. “I’m waiting.”
“That’s the most absurd argument I have ever heard.”
“Absurd or correct?”
“Absurd,” I say on a laugh.
“Well, we can agree to disagree.”
“I guess so.” Feeling full, I cap my ice cream and set it to the side. I turn in my seat and face him. His head leans to the side to look at me as well. His usually blue eyes seem almost gray under the light of the parking lot. Wanting to still keep the mood light, I ask, “Have you recruited a beer pong partner for tomorrow?”
“Not yet,” he says. “Figured I’d pick from the group. I need to assess who’s available first, maybe make them try out for me before I make a final decision.”
“Tryouts, huh? You must be good if you’re going to hold tryouts for a partner.”
“I’m very good,” he says and then flashes me his wrist. “This has won me many a tournament.”
“What has? Your cockiness?” I smirk.
“That,” he says. “And the strength of my wrist and the flick of my fingers. All you have to do is tell me which cup, and it’s in.”
I shake my head. “God, it’s going to be so great seeing you eat those words tomorrow night.”
“No fucking way. I’m the king of beer pong.”
“I love the confidence, Hardy. I think it will serve you well.”
“Do you think someone else is going to beat me?” he asks.
“I’ve heard Polly and Ken have been practicing.”
He shifts in his seat. “Have they? They said that to you?”
