Page 44 of Tough Nut to Crack

"It's Monday. You could postabout the sale in the community group, and I bet we have no less than a dozen students in here curing youroverstock problem by closing time."

"That may work," she says.

"It's a simple two-key click on the register to make it happen," I urge.

"You post in the group," she says, making up her mind. "I'll work on a feature that puts those books up front and center."

I help Sage with the display after submitting my post, praying that Bobby John Pritchard, the man who controls the post approvals in the community group, is quick to let it go through.

I'm walking to the backroom to find something to liven the new display up when a text makes my phone chime.

Mac: Want to grab something to eat on the way home after work?

I tilt my head, wondering if I'm the one with the problem where he's concerned instead of the other way around. I swear the guy is going to give me whiplash.

Me: No, thank you. I prefer to make my own meals.

Mac: What if I buy the food and you cook?

I could spit nails.

Me: No.

Mac: I thought you wanted to get paid to cook.

My lips form a flat line because I don't even think of it that way.

I guess he technically is helping me by paying for food since money is something that's a little tighter than normal these days. I just can't decide if he wants to eat something I cook or if he's trying to fix my problem, which would be somewhat condescending.

I opt to think positively and remind myself of how disappointed he looked this morning when I told him all of the breakfast casserole was gone. He was really looking forward to another serving of it, and that's because it was delicious.

Me: I don't trust you to buy the right ingredients.

Mac: I'll CashApp you some money, just nothing weird. Maybe something out of your grandmother's recipe book, like that casserole thing.

I roll my lips between my teeth. If he were standing in front of me, I'd snap at him for even thinking what I cook is weird. Just because he hasn't eaten a variety of foods in his life doesn't make those things weird.

My phone chimes with an alert. Mac just sent me a hundred dollars.

And there's a sinking feeling in my gut that makes me wonder if I'm nothing more than a hooker at this point. Great sex and money tossed my way.

I straighten my spine and try to look at everything from a different angle.

The sex was great. We both benefited from that if the grunt that came from the very middle of his chest when he came last night is any indication.

He doesn't want to sleep in a hotel, and I have a spare room.

Maybe he left last night because it's sort of what we agreed to that first night, with the whole no-strings-attached thing.

He's helping with the bills, which was also agreed to.

I'm cooking, and he's paying for the groceries. It's all above board, sort of, and nothing remotely similar to prostitution.

Chapter 18

Mac

My hand hesitates on the doorknob. Would it be weird to just open it and walk in?

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