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I shake my head. “I don’t think he did.”

“Guys don’t ask unless they think the girl will say yes.” He narrows his eyes. “Where did he ask you?”

“He came into the restaurant last night.”

Jake throws his hands into the air and jogs around me in an outraged circle. “See? That’s my point. What kind of guy asks a girl out while he’s on a date?”

“I didn’t say he was,” I hedge.

He blinks. “So, wait. He went into your restaurant on a Friday night for what? A business dinner?”

“It was a date,” I admit, “but his date was a nightmare. They got set up by some kind of matchmaking thing, and she left in a huff.”

Jake’s shaking his head, but he starts jogging again, and I have to scramble to catch up.

“I mean it,” I say. “It wasn’t gross, okay?”

“Did he tip you a ton of money before he asked?”

I frown, wiping at a bead of sweat rolling down the side of my face. “No. I mean, he asked me outbeforehe paid.”

“But he did tip you well?”

“I’m not sure,” I say. “I left early.”

Jake huffs. “See? He’s gross.”

“He’s not, though,” I say.

“Well, if he’s so great, then why did you say no?” Jake’s voice is uncharacteristically soft.

“He’s not the right guy for me.”

He throws his hands up in the air. “That’s what I said, but then you jumped in to defend him like he just won the Nobel Peace Prize.” Jake’s always so melodramatic.

“I just wanted to go for a run, because?—”

“Because he was gross, and it upset you that he stalked you at your work to ask you out.”

“He didn’t even know I worked there. Seeing me once, months after the wedding, is hardly stalking me.” I swear, one of these days, I’m going to punch him. Hard. “Just. Whatever.” I wish I had longer legs. I’dloveto leave him in a cloud of cartoon dust as I sped away. Maybe I should start carrying a rolled-up newspaper. Then I could bop him on the nose like a puppy peeing on the rug whenever he’s out of line.

He’d probably throw a big fit about how the ink from the paper left a stain that would ruin his pre-film photoshoot or something.

Jake thrives on drama.

He used to get his fill from Emerson. Those two clashed all the time. But now that Emerson’s gone, he’s been picking at me more. I’m usually hard to irritate, but apparently not today.

My feet are throbbing and my t-shirt’s drenched when we finally get back to the apartment. “Look.” Jake spins around in front of the door, blocking my entry. “If he calls or comes by again, you need to tell me.”

“Why?” I lift my eyebrows. “So you can go practice your boxing on him? Or did you plan to challenge him to another arm wrestle?”

He rolls his eyes. “I mean it.”

“Yes, sir.” I salute, and then I duck under his arm and type in our door code—Emerson’s birthday—and squeeze through the door. He’s too fast for me to slam it on him, but I make a token effort before sprinting to my room. I take such a long shower that I’m shocked when I finally emerge to find Jake in a towel. He’s drinkingorange juice straight from the carton, standing in front of the fridge.

“You’re not filming a commercial.” I throw a hand towel at him. “Put some clothes on.”

“You know, most girls would kill to be in this room right now.” He bobs his head.

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