“It might work better if you knew my name,” Summer pointed out, again. “Y’see, /I’m/ only interested in the clever ones, myself. I’m not sure you could keep up with me.” It’s a double play, but he probably wasn’t aware of that — keep up with her mentally, or in flight?
“Come on, Mr Storm. Do try harder. Impress me.”
His grin faltered, but he was never one to be easily deterred. She was about to learn that the hard way.
“Well how about a trade, ma’am?” he asked, thinking on his feet, “You give me your name and your number, and I shall offer my services to you in any way, shape or form you so desire. Sound good?”
“Desire,” she repeated. “You’re got a lot of that.” She stepped closer, eyes a little distant. “And … frustration. Because I’m not as easy as you thought? You want me to — to ask for your services sexually. Determined. That’s interesting. I’ve always heard you were very, what’s the word I want? fancy-free.”
She blinked, eyes clearing, and looked up at him properly. “I’m an empath, Mr Storm. My name is Summer. You’ll have to earn the number. I think you can come up with a way to do that.”
He said nothing as he stood there, staring at her with eyes as wide as they’d ever been in his life. Not even walking in on Sue and Richard for the first time ever.
“Well,” he said, at a loss for words, “You’re not wrong. I have been told I can be a little irresponsible, I guess. But back to the number. You mentioned something about earning it? What exactly did you have in mind?”
“For you to do something besides expect me to fall at your feet, I think. Ask me to dance, bring me a drink, strike up a conversation that isn’t mostly-empty flattery … ” Summer flicked a hand. “I’m not a conquest, Mr Storm. At least, not an easy one.”
A sideways smile twisted up her mouth. “You’re very handsome, I’ll give you that. And you did mention drinks, a few minutes ago.”