I sense movement at Alex’s table, and when I look up, he’s coming toward me. My heart rate kicks up, and I hate the heat that crawls within me at the sight of him. But I can’t exactly control my body’s response, now, can I?
When he reaches me, I ask, “Can I help you?”
“I didn’t realize you had such long shifts,” Alex says. “You’ve been here since morning, haven’t you?”
I just tilt my head and watch him, refusing to answer his question.
“I never even saw you go grab lunch,” he continues.
Why is he even talking to me? Does he expect me to have a heart-to-heart with him after what he said to me?
“Can I help you?” I repeat, refusing to hold any other conversation with him.
I see the slight irritation in his eyes, and that gives me no end of satisfaction. “I’m just trying to be friendly.
