Elijah arched an elegant brow at her, dropping his water bottle back into his bag and pulling at the neckline of his shirt, trying to get it to stop sticking to his skin. “Do I look like I flirt, Sigma?” “I could see you flirting,” she hedged. “Maybe with a scientific manual of some kind? I could see you stroking its spine by the fireplace, fingering its pages.” He looked amused, so she continued. “I could see you flirting with a documentary on binary code—snuggled in with some wine and fondue.”
