Page 68 of The Lineman

“And I love that for us.” He grinned, stretching his arms above his head, and his sweater rode up just a little, exposing a flash of pale skin.

I did not look.

I absolutely did not.

A little.

I looked a little.

Mike dropped his arms suddenly, eyes bright. “Omar wasn’t ready for me.”

I chuckled. “Omar doesn’t get rattled easily.”

“Well, guess what?” Mike grinned like a lunatic. “I rattled him.”

I smiled. “What gave it away? The way he stared at you like you were an alien?”

“No, the way he whispered, ‘I am both terrified and aroused,’ like I couldn’t hear him.”

I laughed. “Yeah. That was a moment.”

Mike beamed. “I’m their favorite now.”

I raised an eyebrow. “That fast, huh?”

He nodded, dead serious. “Matty told me I was a witch, and Sisi kept calling me ‘my love,’ and Omar—Omar laughed. At my jokes. All of them.”

“He’s British. He has a terribly dry sense of humor.” I tilted my head. “He laughs at my jokes, too.”

Mike gasped. “Are you jealous?”

I rolled my eyes. “No.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not jealous of Omar.”

He grinned at me, eyes shining with tipsy mischief. “But you are jealous of my trivia skills.”

I sighed. “Jesus Christ.”

He sat up straighter, delighted, and poked my arm. “You’resomad I won.”

“I’m not mad,” I said, trying not to look at his finger still pressed against my skin.

“You are.”

“I am not.”

“You are.”

I huffed. “I knew this was gonna be a problem.”

Mike cackled.

He leaned forward suddenly, shifting sideways to look at me like he’d just figured out the meaning of life.

“Elliot,” he whispered.