"Must have read it in a magazine or something."
"Probably." Her teeth sink into her lip. Her eyes flare with jealousy.
She pries her gaze from me to look out the window. Studies the shop fronts of the strip mall.
This street is rows and rows of strip malls.
"What if they want to go to your place?" she asks.
"Then I do that."
"No roommates in the way?"
"Haven't had a roommate in a long time."
"You don't like it?"
I nod.
"I'm not sure if I would either."
"It doesn't crimp your style as much as living with your dad, but it doesn't help."
"Right." She bites her lip. "Are you still sleeping around?"
"Still?"
"Never mind. It's none of my business." Her voice wavers. "And I don't even care." She fails to sell her apathy. Her lip corners turn down. Her nails sink into her black jeans.
"I'll tell if you do." The light turns green. I take off. Zoom straight to thirty miles an hour.
"No. That's okay."
"Has it really been that long?"
"Well…" She clears her throat. "Longer than you could imagine."
"My imagination is limited. That isn't hard."
"True." The tension in her jaw eases as she laughs. "It's been a while."
"Who was the last guy?"
"Alex."
"Fuck, that is a while."
"Two years." The words are matter of fact.
But they feel like a bomb. Two years. That's an eternity. "How is that possible?"
"It goes faster than you'd think."
"No way. It's been three weeks and I'm dying."
"But that was when I started—"
"Yeah."
"So you haven't?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I keep thinking about you."
"You… you're waiting for me?"
"No. Just don't want to be with anyone else."
She leans into her seat. Lets out a soft sigh. "But we… has anything changed?"
"No." I'm still her boss. She's still my subordinate. And teaching her is still the most important thing in my life. Nothing can fuck this up.
"So, we…"
"Still shouldn't."
"Right. Of course."
The devil on my shoulder whispers in my ear. Doesn't mean we can't.
But I keep that to myself.
Chapter Eighteen
Dean
Chloe's eyes go wide as she steps into the tea room. She studies the floral wallpaper, the clean white tablecloths, the ornate wooden chairs.
This is a swanky joint. It's old-fashioned, all doilies and lace. Everyone in their Sunday best with the manners to match.
"Are you sure you're in the right place?" She looks up at me. "You probably can't drop f-bombs here."
"It's gonna be tough. Really." I lead her to the host stand. "Reservation for eleven thirty for Maddox."
"Right this way." The host beams. He leads us through the crowded room, to a round table near the window. The guy even pulls out Chloe's seat for her.
She nods thank you as she takes it. Unfolds her napkin and drapes it over her lap.
I'm not sure who looks more out of place—me in my surfer boy shorts and sandals or her in her artsy rebel combat boots and tight jeans.
We're not this place's usual crowd.
"Oh." Her eyes light up with epiphany. "The Golden Needle."
I nod.
"You're still thinking about that?"
"Man has to defend his honor."
"And you're doing that how?"
I point to the host. He's walking toward us with two tasting trays. Tiny white cups line white platters.
He sets one in front of Chloe and the other in front of me. "The key is right here." He motions to the paper in his hands then places it face-down. "I have you down for two vegetarian afternoon teas."
I nod. "That work?"
Chloe nods.
"Earl Grey?" I ask.
Under the table, she kicks me. "Yes, please." Her voice is sweet. Serene. Like she isn't bothered by how well I know her.
"And for you, sir?" he asks.
"Russian Caravan." I nod a thank you.
He heads back to the kitchen.
Chloe sinks into her chair. Her gaze settles on the tea. "How do we know who wins?"
"Whoever gets it right wins."
"Seems fair." Her eyes go to the paper. "How do I know you didn't cheat?"
"Winning isn't fun if you have to cheat."
Somehow, she believes me. "We both decide. Write it on a piece of paper face down. Reveal at the same time."
"Deal." I pick up my first cup. Take a long sip. Astringent. Grassy. Not Golden Needle, but good.
Her eyelids press together as she sips. Her lips part with a sigh.
Her brow relaxes.
Her chest heaves.
Her satisfaction does something to me. Warms me someplace that's normally cold.
I forget about our game.
Watch her drink instead.
She savors each cup. Studies flavors carefully. It's different than the way she stares at art. Less analytical. More emotional.
She picks up the third cup again. Takes another sip. "I think I have it."
Fuck, I don't. I rush through my teas. All four of them are good, but none stand out as Golden Needle. The second is too smoky. The third is nutty enough, but the fourth has a clearer flavor. I pick that one. Use the sharpie in my pocket (you never know when you need to draw a tattoo mock-up) to scribble it on a napkin.
She pulls a pen from her purse and writes her answer. "Ready?"
"On three."
We count down together. "One, two, three."
Flip. Hers reads three. Mine reads four.
I turn over the key.
It's one.
She laughs. "You were wrong. I think that means I win."
"I think it might."
Her chest spills forward as she leans in. "You do realize I was just"—she drops her voice to a whisper—"fucking with you?"
I hold my hand over my mouth to stage whisper. "You do realize I wasn't born yesterday?"
Her lips curl into a smile. "Doesn't explain your immaturity."
"True."
She picks up the first cup. Takes a long sip. "How did you get into tea?"
"My mom."
"Are you close?"
"No. But we were."
"What happened?"
I press my palms into my jeans. This is not a conversation I'm having. Not with her. Not with anyone.
The server spares me from finding a deflection. He drops off our lunch. Or maybe I should call it a feast.
Matching three-tiered plates are flush with finger sandwiches, cookies, scones, butter, jam, and lemon curd. The same shit my mom always ordered, only sans meat.
Another server drops off our tea.
Chloe stirs honey into her Earl Grey. "Was it that bad?"
"You could say that." I pour from my pot. Take a long sip. It's dark, rich, smoky. Perfect as is.
"Does she know how you feel?"
"Yeah."
"Does Ryan?"
I shake my head.
"Hmm." The gears in her mind turn. She pores over the possibilities. Tries to put it together.
But she won't. This is the kinda thing nobody thinks about their parents.
She brings her mug to her lips. Takes a long sip. Lets out a soft sigh. "How did your mom get you into tea?"
"She used to take us here. On Sundays. She'd dress us up in tiny little suits and meet her friends for afternoon tea."
She smiles at the mental image. "Were you already a troublemaker?"
"I was born a troublemaker."
"That's supposed to sound badass."
"Doesn't it?"
She shakes her head.
"You're killing me, Chloe."
"I'm sure." She plucks a cucumber sandwich from her plate. Takes a tiny bite. "This is weird."
"What about it?"
"You're being nice.
"I am not."
"You are so."
"Definitely not."
"Definitely so."
"I'm going to keep saying it."
She finishes her sandwich. "I'm sure you could go in circles for hours."
I nod. I could. But I don't want to waste my time with her. I want to know more about her. To peel her open and pry her apart.
I can't have her body.
But we can be friends.
I'm capable of getting to know her without getting her clothes off. "How'd you get into tea?"
"My mom. She loved her morning ritual. She made a strong black tea every day. Waited until it was steeped just right then added a little milk, a little honey. I'd always try to get her to add more, but she'd say, 'you need balance, Chloe.'"
"She sounds like a monk."
"She was like that." She takes a long sip of her Earl Grey. Lets out a soft sigh. "It's funny. All my stories about Mom make her seem so wise and worldly. She was, but I didn't see her like that when she was here. And then… at the end…" Hurt fills her eyes.