Page 7 of Employing Patience

And the smart-ass does not. Stop. Flirting.

I’ve been going out more and more lately to take the damn edge off.

“Hey,” Orson says, sliding into the booth across from me. “Slow morning?”

I glance around the bar, but it looks like the usual lull before lunch.

He shakes his head. “I mean with you. I don’t think I’ve seen you down here before.”

“I work down here all the time.” My tone is more defensive than I intended it to be. “I didn’t realize you were keeping tabs on me. You don’t need to be so coy. I told you I’m available.”

“And I’m not.” His smile is soft as he looks me over. “Everything okay with you?”

“Totally. Chill like the goddamn Dalai Lama.”

“With way more cursing?”

“It’s called creative expression.”

He chuckles. “When your go-to word is ‘fuck,’ I don’t think you can claim being creative.”

“Hey, I throw some mothers and some shits in there too.”

His brow wrinkles. “I’d hate for someone to be listening to this conversation out of context.”

“I wouldn’t.” The thought lights me up. “Motherfucking shit cock. Cursing really helps let the tension out. Soothes the soul.”

“Your soul needs soothing?”

“Every now and then, yeah.”

Orson’s gaze travels over me again, soft and curious. The bastard is way too perceptive for his own good, but lucky for me, he’s not nosy. If it was Griff sitting across from me, he’d be straight on the attack. Instead, Orson lets out a brief “hmm” and then props his chin on his hand.

“Can I grab a breakfast sandwich?” he asks.

“Sure thing.” I lift my hand, trying to get the attention of someone at the bar, and I’m equal parts relieved and disappointed when it’s Travis and not Joey who signals me with an upnod.

The last thing I need is for Orson to witness how completely Joey disarms me because he’ll pick up on it right away.

“Busy day?” I ask.

“Just work.”

“My offer to go out at night still stands, you know. I’ll even come to one of those straight bars with you.”

He pretends to gasp. “And go a night without hooking up?”

My eyes flick back toward the bar before I catch myself. “Who says I won’t hook up?”

“At a straight bar?”

I give him my cockiest grin. “You have a lot to learn, sweet cheeks. We’re only as limited as our minds make us.”

“At least you use all that motivational crap on yourself as well as the rest of us.”

The thing I’ll never tell them is that I believe most of it too. Boosting people up, being a cheerleader for my men, it’s all the kind of thing people in high school used to sneer at me for. Call me names and make out like I wasn’t as manly as the rest of them.

For a long time, I believed it.

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