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He leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees. “You don’t get told that?”

“Frequently.”

“Then why are you acting like I proposed to you?” he asked.

“I’m not.”

“You said no.”

“It was instinct.” I shrugged. When he stared at me for a moment too long, I pointed a finger at his face. “Don’t analyze me.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re doing it with your eyebrows.”

“My eyebrows?”

“They’re invasive.”

“How should I fix them then?” He did a wiggle and made a bunch of different faces, and that got me.

A stupid little laugh escaped, and I covered my mouth.

Omar smiled victoriously. And for some reason, that felt more intimate than the flirting had. He wasn’t trying to win me over. Wasn’t trying to provoke me either. He just seemed to enjoy sitting here. With me….

Exactly as I am. No performance required. And that was terrifying.

I stood suddenly. “We should go.”

Omar looked up. “To lunch?”

“Yes.”

“You hungry?”

“No.”

“Then why?” he asked.

“Because sitting here is getting weird,” I told him.

“For you or me?”

I glared in his direction, and he stood. He was a little taller than I was. Enough that I had to tilt my chin slightly.

“You really don’t know how to flirt when somebody actually likes you back, do you, cutie?”

My mouth fell open. “I know how to flirt.”

“You’ve insulted me six times.”

“That is flirting. Ask any straight dude.”

“You also rejected a compliment.”

“I was surprised.”

“You accused me of brain damage.”