“It’s exactly how this works. You stop twisting your hair back in the booth and I—” “Twisting my hair?” I interrupt. “You mean braiding it?” He nods. “Yeah. Stop braiding your hair in the booth and I’ll stop flirting with you.” “Aiden, that’s not—” I take a second to collect myself. “That’s not flirting. That’s—I’m just pulling my hair back.” His hand flexes on my couch cushion. “Stop braiding your hair in the booth and I’ll stop flirting with you,” he says again, a hint of demand in his voice. I swallow and shift.
