Page 6 of Push My Buttons
Just a glance.
Okay, maybe two.
Three customers later, the door swings open again and in walks the human equivalent of a neon sign: Theo.
If Jace is grayscale and growl, Theo is color and swagger. Tall, cocky, probably allergic to humility. He wears sunglasses indoors like he’s the third Hemsworth brother no one invited.
He walks up to the counter and leans in with a grin that’s probably gotten him laid more times than he deserves.
"Hey, Trouble," he says to Maya, then glances back at me. "Hey, Sunshine. You look like you didn’t get any sleep. Up all night thinking about me again?"
I raise an eyebrow from the espresso machine, not bothering to sign a response. Maya rolls her eyes.
"She’s mute, not deaf, you idiot," she tells him. "And even if she weren’t, that line’s a war crime."
He laughs like he’s unbothered, which he probably is.
"Mocha with chili and whipped cream?" Maya asks.
"You know me too well."
I prepare his drink without looking at him, though I feel his eyes on me the entire time. It’s not the creepy kind of watching. It’s the kind that makes your skin itch because it feels... focused.Not just on your ass or your tits, but on all the invisible pieces you think you’ve hidden.
We have a ton of regulars—the usual parade of tech addicts, crypto bros, startup gremlins, and people who think tipping 10% is generous because they recycled once in 2016. But those two? They snag my attention every damn time.
They’re both hot. In wildly different, equally irritating ways.
Jace is all tension and shadow. The kind of man who probably reads Russian literature and broods about the futility of existence while lifting weights shirtless.
Theo is chaos in human form. The kind of guy who’d get you into trouble just for fun, and probably help you bury the bodies after.
Not that either of them would ever give me a second glance that meant anything. I’m not the type of girl who catches those kinds of eyes. Not anymore.
Still… I notice.
And what’s more, they never come in together. Never talk to each other. But they’re always here—on alternating days, or within minutes of each other. Just enough to tickle that part of my brain that no longer trusts coincidences.
Not since my life turned into a true crime docuseries.
And there’s something else.
Something I’m trying real hard not to think about.
Their voices.
There’s something vaguely familiar about the way they sound. Not all the time. Just in passing. Just enough to make my stomach twist in a way that has nothing to do with caffeine withdrawal.
I shake it off and focus on Theo’s drink. He studies me like I’m a lock, one that he isn’t sure whether to pick or smash to get to the secrets inside.
"You always this quiet?" he asks, flashing a grin.
Maya gives him a look. "You literally know she can’t talk. Are you just trying to flirt badly or are you this dense by default?"
He laughs, picks up his drink, and throws me a wink. "Worth a shot."
And honestly? I suspect that’s the whole point. Theo keeps asking questions he already knows I won’t answer, like he’s waiting for the day I’ll surprise him. Like if he asks enough, I might forget I’m silent and speak just for him. Part of me finds it frustrating—like he’s chipping at something I’ve worked too hard to protect. But another part… the part I hate acknowledging… finds it oddly sweet. Hopeful. As if someone still believes there’s a version of me that might want to come back out of hiding. It’s foolish. Persistent. Weirdly kind. And annoying as hell. But also? Kinda hard to ignore.
He walks off, leaving behind a tip and the faint scent of expensive cologne and poor decisions.
