I laugh. “I think he’d be into it.”
“They’d be horrible together.”
“Is that really your business?”
“She’s too insecure, and he’s too nice.”
“That doesn’t sound like a horrible pairing to me.”
Tek agrees. “It’s not, in theory. But in their case, he’d be doing all the work.”
“Okay then, mister therapist. Whowouldbe a good match for Austin?”
“That’s none of my business.”
“The hell? You were just—” I’m cut off by just how blank Tek’s face is. I want to slap him until I see something burning in his eyes like I did on Thanksgiving. “If you’re gonna be like that,” I continue. “I’ll talk about Brooklyn some more.”
Tek’s head tilts to the opposite side.
“Have you thought, even once, about if it would have been better to hire her?”
“We’ve already talked about this.”
“I’m serious. When Eden comes back, that’s another man in the shop. Having a woman would bring a different dynamic.”
“I don’t need her.”
I know we’ve been here before, but I push again. “Not even aesthetically?”
Tek’s brow creases. “Are you bored of looking at me already, kid?”
“Not at all. I’m just…” I struggle to find the right word. “Curious, I guess.”
He blinks slowly. “About what?”
I’m baiting him fully at this point. “About whether or not it might be good for business to hire some eye candy.”
“You’re not ugly,” he says with a smirk.
I put my hand over my heart. “You really should stop flattering me.”
“If you’re worried the shop needs more sex appeal, why don’t you change what you wear to work?”
I clear my throat, trying to break the tension that’s wound so tightly into every part of my body, but I can’t stop. I need to keep going. I need to know how far he’s willing to let me go with this. “If you’re into it, I could start wearing pencil skirts.”
“Nah.” Tek shakes his head; his nonchalance is so fucking sexy. “I’d prefer to keep it casual. Just wear a cute tank top.”
“I’ll pick some up if it’ll make you happy.”
“I’m not joking.”
I don’t know if that’s true or not. It feels like banter, but I really really don’t want it to be. If he can tell how riled up I am, he doesn’t show it, and that makes it worse. He just keeps staring at me, all smug control, letting me flounder in the depths of my own secret need for him.
I wish we weren’t here.
I wish we were anywhere else—outside even, in the alley beside the bar where people go to smoke.
Just not here.
