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“That so?”
And maybe we’re only making conversation, but it’s one of the truest things I’ve told him. If someone’s with me, it’s because they want to be with me. Sure, it’s usually only sex, but whether it’s one night or many, I like to know I have my partner’s attention. I have a bit of an ego about that, so sue me. I lean over to nudge Orson. “Changed my mind. Show me something blue.”
“Hope works.”
“Sure. That.” But we both know I’m gonna end up with those yellow ones he showed me first. We’ve done this a few times now, Orson leading me around his shop, making recommendations while I shoot down every one until we wind up back at the start. See, after the first two times of buying the first bunch he showed me, I realized that once I’ve paid, I don’t have a reason to stick around. And those few minutes of his company aren’t enough.
Neither is a solid half an hour of teasing, if I’m honest.
He leans down to replace the latest bouquet, and my gaze lands squarely on his ass.Damn, that’s a booty. My gaze slips to his waist and follows the lines of muscle up to his broad shoulders, and while I’ve never seen him out of clothes, I can only imagine what he’s packing under there.
The guy used to be a stripper? I don’t think he has any clue how hot that image is.
He straightens and sets his hands on his hips as he turns to me. “Any other color you’d like to see?”
I grin, and his lips twitch before I’ve even said a thing.
“I’ve heard yellow’s a good choice.”
“Have you really? Follow me, then.” He leads me back to the yellow and purple lot. “How about these?”
I don’t even look at them. “Perfect.”
I swear Orson almost rolls his eyes before he grabs them and returns to the counter. His movements are fast and practiced as he rolls the bunch in two layers of paper. One brown, one kinda clear.
“Got a busy day?” I ask.
“Wednesdays are mostly inventory than anything else. As far as I’m concerned, if it’s not Sunday, it’s not busy. That day kills me so much I need to take the next two days to recover.”
Sundays, he has a booth at the market inside Killer Brew. I hadn’t realized how much of a business there was for flowers, but he says he’s doing well for himself.
“Wanna meet me for lunch?”
He smirks. “You know my terms.”
“But it wastotallya date.”
“Keep going,” he says, handing the flowers over. Then he lets out a completely fake sigh. “I guess we’ll never hang out again.”
I’m so torn. On one hand, I love teasing him, and I’ve been carrying on about this date thing for so long it feels like losing to agree that what we had wasn’t a date. Even though it wasn’t. If we’d been on a date, there’d be no way to dispute it.
But Orson also said we won’t be hanging out again until I admit it was just two friends having dinner, and after a couple of weeks, I’m running out of reasons for needing flowers. I’m gonna have to cave soon. Damn him for being someone I actually feel good around. For his confidence and his sneaky smiles and the way he doesn’t shy away from meeting my eyes.
“Fine.”
He lights up like he’s won, and nope, can’t do it.
“Mightyfinedate we had.”
He points at me. “You’re a stubborn mule.”
I tug a flower out of the ones I’m holding and pass it to him. “For you, sweetheart.”
“And now I can resell it. Even better.”
“Resell?” I splutter. “That’s a friendship flower, and you better goddamn treasure it.”
“For the handful of days it’s alive? I shall.”
