Bad Boy Ink (Get Ink'd #5) - Ali Lyda Page 0,22

or anything gross on me, I grabbed it and headed out.

I even went to hold the door open for Aiden, but he beat me to it with a look that said that I absolutely, under no circumstances, ever, ever should try to open the door for him.

If it wasn't for the talks I'd had with Bryan and Mateo, I probably would have taken that as an invitation to work on opening as many doors for him as possible. As it was, I just filed the information away, but attempted to let it go.

“Where to?” Aiden asked as we stepped outside into the sunshine. It was that kind of perfect, not quite fall day. Like summer was still holding on and wanted to remind us that she'd stretch her fingers out as long and warmly as possible. The sunshine on my face felt like a welcome kiss after being hunched over and focused on a tattoo for an hour.

“I know a place close by, if that's okay?” I pointed in the direction of one of my favorite French bistros. It was close to work, it had good food, and it was usually never that busy. I figured for us to have a chance to really work on the case, we'd need quiet, time, and good Wi-Fi.

Aiden looked hesitantly in the direction that I pointed but nodded his assent. He was quiet as we walked toward the bistro, stiff even, like he couldn’t fathom how to carry on a basic conversation with me. I tried not to let it bother me, but it still rankled a bit. I wasn't asking to be besties, was I? No, just fucking polite.

But just before I could get myself really worked up, Aiden interrupted my stewing with a question. “Do you flirt with everyone?”

I almost missed my step and took a staggering one to recover. “What are you talking about?”

“Erykah? The gorgeous woman? The one with the dreadlocks?”

My eyes widened, and I laughed without meaning to. I didn't want to make him feel bad for a question, especially when he was finally instigating conversation.

“Don't worry,” I said as I managed to subdue my chuckles. “I love Erykah, but I think you'll find she's not my type. She doesn't have the right equipment, if you know what I'm saying.”

Aiden shrugged. “It sure looked like flirting.”

I thought back to all the boyfriends I'd had in the past, many of whom had similar complaints. My exuberance and friendliness was often misinterpreted as flirting. And maybe sometimes it was, but my intentions were always clear about the person who mattered most to me. And I always felt like if someone trusted me then it wouldn't matter if I was flirting with anyone. Because they would know that it didn't mean anything to me beyond a moment of fun and friendliness.

“It probably did look like flirting,” I said. “It's been a problem before—but it’s just friendliness. Maybe unintentional flirting, but it’s always harmless.”

Aiden gave me a look I couldn't quite interpret, but he didn't argue, which I definitely appreciated. It was hard having to defend myself just for being nice. For being myself. I wished that friendliness didn't have to be perceived as something that came with an ulterior motive.

We rounded the last corner, and I pointed to the bistro I had in mind. Chez Jacques. Aiden's eyes widened at the door.

“Are you sure? That place can be a little pricey,” he hedged.

“It's on me,” I said, “so don't worry about it.”

Without thinking, I went to open the door for him. Aiden huffed in annoyance and grabbed it first, waving me through. I shrugged as I walked inside, not understanding what his hang-up was with the restaurant. Part of what I loved about it was that it was secluded and was going to give us a lot of privacy to discuss the case. While I knew that it was only a pretend case for a class, I couldn't help but feel my excitement ramp up at the prospect of acting like I was solving the real deal. This was the shit I lived for.

The hostess took us to a tiny table near a window. I pulled out my laptop and set it to the side. Aiden was fidgeting in his seat. His eyes were scanning the room, staring at each table. I tried to wrap my mind around why he seemed so deeply uncomfortable in the restaurant. It was nice but it wasn’t, like, Michelin star nice.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

He