The Kiss Quotient (The Kiss Quotient 1)

Michael rubbed at the back of his neck. “Haven’t been sleeping much.” After sharing a bed with Stella for so long, he was having trouble transitioning back to solitary sleeping. When he did manage to fall asleep, he dreamed of her. And came all over his sheets. That reminded him he had to do his goddamned laundry. Again.

“Barely seen you lately. How’s it going with your girl?”

Michael stuffed his hands in his pockets. “We broke up.”

Quan’s tattooed arm froze in midswipe along the tabletop. “Why?”

“Wasn’t working.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Look, I came to ask for your help with something else.”

Quan’s eyebrows shot up. “So this is why you look like shit. What did you do that she broke up with your ass? Did you try, you know, saying sorry? Getting flowers? Stuffed bears? Chocolate? Chicks dig those things. I shouldn’t have to tell you this.”

“I was the one who ended it.”

Quan tossed his cleaning towel on the table. “What the hell, man. Why?”

Michael raked a hand through his hair, grimacing as the knife in his ribs twisted. Because he wasn’t good enough for her. And even if he could get good enough for her, she wasn’t into him, anyway. She’d moved on.

A tight breath punched from Quan’s lips as he watched Michael’s reaction. “Well, what did you need help with? Are you finally thinking of getting a bike?”

“No, no bike. I’m . . . looking for my replacement at the tailor shop.” Saying the words out loud made him sweat.

“And you’re telling me because . . . ?”

“You can sew, and . . .” Michael snuck a glance at the swinging door leading to the kitchen and lowered his voice to say, “You hate working for your mom, but you get along with mine. Most importantly, I trust you. I can’t go if my mom’s not in good hands.”

“What are you planning to do? Are you moving back to New York?”

“No, I’m staying here—I need to stay close even if I’m not there, you know? I’m thinking of starting my own line.”

It had been his dream since forever, but he’d been forced to put it off. All this time, the ideas and the concepts had grown in his head, getting bigger and harder to suppress, but now . . .

“About time.” Quan punched him in the shoulder as he grinned.

“So will you do it? Will you work at the shop?”

Quan gave him a funny look before saying, “I could do it short term if you needed it, but not permanently. Alterations bore the shit out of me. Yen is looking for work, though, and she likes sewing. As long as she can bring the baby in, that should work out for everyone.”

Michael felt a strange lightness take over his body. “That sounds perfect.”

“You should have asked a lot earlier. There’s always someone in our family who’s out of work. No one could understand why you stayed at the shop this long. It’s pretty obvious you hate it. You’re not alone, you know. Family’s got your back.”

As Michael searched his cousin’s earnest face, he realized he’d never once considered asking for help before now. The entire problem with his parents and his mom’s health had been his own personal cross to bear. Why had he thought that? Because he was guilty over leaving in the first place? Maybe he’d felt he needed to atone for his selfishness. And maybe, like his dad, he was too proud.

“You’re right. I should have asked earlier.” Ideas arranged themselves in his head, and he said, “I could use your help now with my line, actually. I’m a designer, not a businessperson, and I know you’re getting that MBA . . .”

Quan crossed his arms over his chest with a serious look. “Are you asking if I wanna go into business with you?”

Michael returned his cousin’s serious gaze. “Yeah. I think I am. Fifty-fifty.”

Quan continued wiping down the tables. “I gotta think about it.”

“Sure, yeah. I’ll send you my designs.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Quan said as he focused on his work.