“Would you like imitation or real crab tonight?” she asks.
“Real,” I say without hesitation. “Go big or go home.”
Gideon smirks. “Finally, something real.”
“Don’t start,” I warn, smiling anyway.
He adds, “We’ll share an order of crab rangoons and steak fried rice, too.”
Aiko nods, jotting everything neatly on her pad before collecting the menus. “Excellent choices. I’ll get this right in for you.”
When she leaves, Gideon tilts his head at me. “You and your obsession with crab. Real, fake, doesn’t matter.”
“I like what I like,” I say, shrugging.
“You do.” He leans forward, elbows resting on the table. “And when you do, you don’t leave much room for anything else.”
“Guess you’ll have to make space, then.”
He laughs softly, low enough that goosebumps cover my arms.
He starts the casual talk, the kind of rhythm that comes easy with him. “How’s school? My favorite TA still terrifying undergrads?”
I laugh. “Maybe a little. They scare easily.”
He smirks. “And the professor? Still oblivious to your chaos?”
“Completely.”
The food arrives in waves; plates that steam, chopsticks clinking softly. The crab rangoon crackles when I bite in. He pours soy sauce into the dish between us, and when our fingers brush, the spark is instant. I pretend to focus on the rolls.
It’s easy for a while, banter, food, the kind of flirting that makes us both eager to go home and get naked.
Until he asks, “Any trouble in class yet?”
I pause long enough for him to notice. “Why?”
“Just asking, but now I know the answer ‘cause you made a face.”
“Just one student. A little too curious for his own good.”
He tilts his head, eyes narrowing in that way he does when he’s reading me. “Curious how?”
“He saw me at Velvet. I don’t think he’s said anything, but… he likes to push.”
The air changes, just a little. Gideon sets his chopsticks down and leans back. His jaw tightens.
“Give me a name.”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Pen.” His voice drops lower. “If he’s harassing you?—”
“He’s not. Yet. I can handle it.”
He doesn’t buy it, but he lets it go—for now. His hand moves across the table, palm up. “Then at least promise me you’ll tell me if it changes.”
I slide my fingers into his, because it’s easier than arguing. “You’ll be the first to know.”
