“Thea,” Zaid begins softly. “You do realize she was flirting withyou, right?”
“With me?” My voice comes out high-pitched.
“Anyone with working eyes would flirt with you,” Krystian points out with an eye roll.
Wait…what?
“But…but… I thought she was…” I gape at the four of them—Rafael and Everett sitting across from me, Krystian beside me, and Zaid at a seat pulled up to the edge of the table.
“I can kill her if you feel uncomfortable,” Rafael suggests, his voice monotone.
Kill her?
“Of course not!” My lips curve into a wide smile. “I’ve never had someone flirt with me before. OMG! This is amazing!”
“Did she really just say OMG?” Everett asks Zaid, sounding incredulous.
“Let her have it,” Zaid responds.
The waitress returns a few minutes later, her cheeks still red and her chest heaving. On closer inspection, she appears to be in her late twenties. She’s pretty, I suppose, with reddish-orange hair coiled in tight, corkscrew curls and freckles on her nose and cheeks. I’m not particularly interested in women, but when in Rome, do what the Romans do. Or whatever.
I hold the woman’s gaze and sensually lick my lips.
Krystian begins to choke on his water.
“Darla, is it?” I purr, leaning slightly on the table. The oversized shirt does very little to help my figure, but it’s the thought that counts. “I think we should rearrange the alphabet to put U and I together.”
Zaid blushes, Everett turns his face to keep from laughing out loud, and Krystian facepalms himself. Rafael? He simply glares at the innocent human waitress, who seems at a loss for words.
“What the fuck are you doing, love?” Krystian asks.
“Flirting. Duh.”
His white eyebrows climb up his hairline. “Are you interested in Darla?”
I find it kind of rude that we’re talking about her when she’s standing right there, but I answer Krystian regardless.
“Not really. But flirting’s fun. And I think I’m pretty good at it.”
“You’re not,” Everett snaps.
He seems grumpier than usual.
Zaid turns to the flustered waitress and says, “We’ll have one of everything on the menu, please and thank you.” When he notices my gobsmacked expression, he explains, “Supernaturals need more calories than the average human.”
As Darla hurries away to put our order in, I call out, “Text me! Actually, text Krystian. I don’t have a phone, but he probably does.”
Krystian chuckles and drapes an arm over the back of the booth—and consequently my shoulders.
He leans in close to whisper against my ear, “Are you trying to set me up on a date, love?”
Immediately, a vicious pain burns through my chest, and a growl escapes me.
“No,” I hiss.
“No?”
“No dates for you. No dates for any of you.” I say this to the rest of the men who are staring at me, a range of emotions on their faces. “Not when I’m around. It’s just rude.”
