Andy pointed, and I again braced for theah-hamoment to ruin it all. But all he said was, “Harlowand Lo. That’ll be easy to remember.”
Kodie didn’t seem to care about the word play or anything else besides me—a new toy in the workplace dating pool. “If you get hungry during or after shift, come see me in the kitchen. I’ll hook you up.”
“Okay,” I lied. I would be getting food. The number of times items from the menu had randomly popped into my head was sad. But I wouldn’t go specifically to him unless it was for the case.
Bars and restaurants had their own unique ecosystem of socialization. Most of the time, that ecosystem was built on flirting to pass the time, get priority treatment, apologize for messing up, or simply the desire to hookup. That often led to hurt feelings, jealousy, and a whole ton of messy drama. The last thing I needed was to make enemies because I encouraged attention from the wrong person. Or worse, accusations of favoritism that put a target on my back and made it impossible for me to do either of my jobs.
I needed to walk the impossibly thin line between friendly enough to be included so I can hear the gossip that ran almost as rampant as the serial dating and withdrawn enough not to be the focus of said gossip.
Easy.
Or the opposite of easy, but whatever.
The guys continued on toward the kitchen, and Harlow waited until they were far enough away to warn, “That’s gonna happen a lot.”
“I know. I’ve got experience.”
“Being hit on? I don’t doubt that.”
I laughed. “No, working in bars. I know how it goes for anything with a pulse and the promise of breaking up the monotony.”
“Wow, did you attend the Rhys Walker School of Romance? You have the same cynicism.”
“Not cynicism. Realism. Not everyone is lucky enough to have a tattooed hottie with a laser focus that says the rest of the world ceases to exist.”
Her smile grew into a grin that quickly settled into a blissful look of contentment. I thought that was the end of it, but then her voice lowered again. “So the shared outlook is a coincidence and not because there’s something happening between you two?”
That time, it wasn’t just laughter. It was a cackle that burst out of me. “No.”
“Because I thought I caught a vibe.”
“The only vibe is him wanting me out of his hair.”
His gorgeous, luscious hair that I want to run my fingers through.
Her gaze went over my head as she weighed her words before tentatively voicing them. “If he flirted with you and it pissed you off, I get that. But a lot of his charm is just automatic from working in this kind of customer service.”
I wish he would flirt with me.
What?
No, I don’t.
I must be ovulating. I always get hormonal around then.
Do I ovulate with an IUD?
I should really know this.
Having no control over my inner thoughts was bad enough, but I must’ve been really off my game because my expression was far from the controlled, bland one I wanted.
My nose scrunched in disgust at myself.
And disgust that he was flirty and charming with everyone else, yet I got insults.
Harlow read my displeasure and rushed on. “Not that it makes it okay. Tell him it bothers you, and he’ll stop. I just wanted to give you a heads-up that you don’t have to read too much into it.”
“It’s not that,” I said. “Trust me. He has the tendency to put his foot in his mouth so much, I’m beginning to suspect he has a fetish or a kink.”
