Sasha leaned back against one of the refrigerator doors. His red hair was doubled behind him in the reflection like someone had colored out of the lines with a Crayola red crayon. “Nathan,” he said, somewhat patronizing. “Flirting isn’t always the best way to get information out of a pretty girl.”
“Hn. Always worked for me,” Nathan grumbled.
“I’m telling you. Sometimes a girl would rather think she is the last thing on your mind. I’ve gotten more propositions by acting practically uninterested in women than I ever have by flirting directly.”
“Oh yeah? And how’s your luck pretending to have a boyfriend?” Nathan snapped.
“Well…it worked, didn’t it?” Sasha smiled, but the expression wavered as he pushed away from the refrigerator door. “Look, I’m sorry. Really. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I don’t mean to send any mixed signals here.”