Penelope headed his way, and when she got closer, he realized he was spot-on about the makeup.

“This is new,” he said, letting his eyes roam over her features.

She sighed. “I know. Do I look like a clown?”

Cole grimaced. There was no easy way to answer this. It was just like the old Does this make me look fat? trap.

You say no, they assume you’re just saying what they want to hear, and start lecturing you about the importance of honesty.

You say yes, you’re a dead man.

“Uh—”

“The makeup girl did it,” she said, touching her fingers to her pinker-than-usual cheek. He wasn’t sure if it was from blush, or from embarrassment, and in case it was the latter, he nudged her shoulder with his, even though he had to stoop to do so.

“Hey. It looks good.”

It was the right thing to say.

She smiled up at him, and he had an odd sense of triumph that he’d been able to sneak beneath her walls, at least for a moment. And Cole was damn sure he was right about her having walls.

The over-the-top friendliness, however genuine, was also deliberate. It was her way of ensuring that guys knew to keep her in the friend zone.

“So, Adam asked if I wanted to grab a drink after this,” Penelope said, biting her lip.

His head whipped around. What the…

Maybe he was wrong about the friend-zone thing, because apparently Adam Bailey hadn’t gotten the Let’s just be friends pep talk.

“Yeah?” Cole asked, keeping his voice casual. “What’d you say?”

“I said maybe,” she said, chewing her lip as they both looked over to where Adam was expertly posing for the cameras as though he’d done it a million times. Because he had.

“I thought you said he was a pig.”

She lifted a shoulder. “I’m not going to marry the guy. And you’re the one who said I should let myself be wooed.”

“Not by him!” Cole said.

His voice was louder than he’d intended, and several people turned to stare.

He forced a smile before lowering his voice. “You know what? I think you should go on a date with him.”

“It’s not a date, just a drink,” she said.

Cole shook his head.

Clueless. So adorably clueless.

“It’s a date,” he said.

“It’s not,” she said emphatically. “In fact…you should come!”

Yeah. Because that’s just how he wanted to spend a Thursday night. Watching a playboy pro athlete put the moves on the one woman who’d rejected him.

“Can’t,” he said.

“Plans?” she asked.

It was the distracted, uninterested note in her voice, as though she didn’t care one way or another, that brought the lie to the tip of his tongue. “Yup. Got a date of my own.”

That got her attention.

She snapped her head around, and he didn’t think he imagined the slight delay in her usual smile.

“Oh! Well, have fun,” she said.

“I will. And you have fun with Adam.” He wiggled his eyebrows just to mess with her and she narrowed her eyes.

“I told you, it’s not a date. I have absolutely zero intention of becoming one of Adam Bailey’s women.”

“Uh-huh.”

He walked away then, not wanting her to pick up on his bad mood, and Penelope’s voice followed him.

“Hey, where are you going? The shoot’s not over yet.”

He turned around and walked backward as he answered. “Gotta go call my date. Confirm where we’re meeting.”

Once outside the studio where the shoot was taking place, Cole pulled out his phone.

Only not to call a woman.

Lincoln picked up on the first ring. “Yo.”

“Need help.”

“Name it.”

“I need a last-minute date.”

Lincoln paused. “And you’re telling me this because…”

Cole rolled his eyes. “Come on. I know you’ve got like a dozen rejects you can set me up with.”

“I may have plenty of women on speed dial,” Lincoln said slowly. “But I don’t want you messing with them.”

There it was again—that implication that Cole was a callow user of women.

“This from the guy who’s never had a relationship in…ever?” Cole shot back.

Lincoln was quiet for several moments. “When you say last-minute, how last-minute we talking about?”

“Tonight. Come on, Mathis, I’m not looking for my soulmate, just a woman who wouldn’t mind grabbing drinks with a good-looking guy.”

“I refuse to vouch for the good-looking part,” his friend said. “But I know a few girls who don’t mind letting a guy buy them a drink. No expectations of hearts and flowers and the like.”

The mention of hearts and flowers reminded him of his conversation with Penelope, and it was on the tip of his tongue to ask if Lincoln knew of any women who preferred onion rings to chocolate.

Shit. This had to stop.

Penelope Pope was…hell, he didn’t want her. Didn’t want to date her.

Which was good. Because she didn’t want him either. She could not have been more clear about that. I don’t want this, Cole. I don’t want you, not like this.

“Sure, call one of them,” Cole told Lincoln. “Or text me a number and I’ll make the call.”

“You got it,” Lincoln said. “But dude, you sound weird. What’s going on?”