I yank his hand down, glowering at him. “Okay, you’re done.”
He laughs. “Look, I’m just proud of you. Ezra’s been on everyone’sto-dolist for years.”
“I thought everyone called him Grump Ass?”
“They do, but it doesn’t mean we’re not all aware of how good looking that man is. I mean, those dress shirts? Those slacks? I want to ask him to be my tutor, and I’m not even a student.”
I can’t help but smile because I’ve thought the same thing myself.
“See? You get what I’m saying. So,” he says, leaning into me, “not dating but still fooling around, huh?”
“Yeah, basically.”
“And that’s because he’s all anti-love and -relationships, right?”
“How do you know about that?”
“I’ve been around for a while. You learn shit. Plus, he gets all queasy looking whenever Noah and Odette get lovey-dovey in front of him. It’s not hard to figure out.”
That’s true. He does do that. Not as much as he used to, but it’s still clear he’s uncomfortable with all their PDA.
Me? Well, uncomfortable is the last thing I am. I’m actually kind of jealous. I wish I could touch Ezra freely like that, even if we aren’t labeling this thing we’re doing. But I have to respect his feelings on the situation, so I don’t push it.
Plus, there’s that pesky little fact that I’m still his employee too.
We might have made some really bad, really loose excuses when we first started this, but we can’t really use those now. Iamhis employee. Hell, I’m his head chef. What we’re doing is wrong. Completely unethical. There’s no way to spin it otherwise.
I trust Warner not to say anything, but if my other coworkers got wind of this, I don’t think they’d be as understanding, and they shouldn’t be. I wouldn’t be if the roles were reversed. I’d constantly wonder if favorites were played or if opportunities that weren’t earned were given simply because of the circumstances.
It’s just another reminder that I’m fucking this up all over again. I’m getting in the way of my own dreams again and again. I’m failing.
“Hey, whoa. Are you okay?”
“Huh?”
Warner points between my eyebrows. “You’re angry. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I say, the word harsher than intended. “Sorry. It’s just ... Can we stop talking about this? I really don’t want anyone to overhear.”
“Sure, yeah. Of course. I just ...” He leans down again. “For what it’s worth, I think it’s a good thing. Maybe against the rules, sure, but still a good thing. You’ve certainly made Ezra a more tolerable boss, so whatever this thing is, keep it up.”
He shoots me a wink and a thumbs-up, and I laugh just to get him to leave me alone.
But on the inside, I’m freaking out. Am I self-destructing because of what happened in Chicago?
No, no. I can’t be. That can’t be what this is. How could it be when it feels so right?
My eyes find Ezra again—who is still chasing the chicken around—and I’m making my way over to him before I even realize it.
“I’ll be back,” I call out to Warner.
He laughs, and I try not to let the sound bother me as I push open the doors to the back of Stick Taps, where the animals are housed.
Like he can sense me, Ezra pauses, then looks over his shoulder. Our eyes connect, and he grins. My stomach does a flip.
“Hey, Sunny.”
“Hey,” I say back. “You good out here?”
