“Stop it.” I held up my hand, struggling to get the words out, struggling to explain the way I felt about his behavior. When he checked out the waitress at the bar, I didn’t care. But when he did it with Cleo, it was so disrespectful. She wasn’t some piece of ass in a bar. She was a person—a good fucking person.
Tucker’s eyes narrowed on my face, knowing I was struggling to say what I thought.
“Don’t talk about her like that. I don’t care that you think she’s hot, but stop objectifying her every time she steps into my goddamn apartment. Stop talking about her ass, don’t you dare talk about her tits. Otherwise, you can find another fucking place to live.” I opened the fridge, grabbed a beer, and twisted off the cap, and walked to the dining table where my work waited for me. I fell into the chair and focused on my work as if that conversation never happened. It was forgotten the second I was finished.
Tucker joined me, sitting in the chair Cleo usually sat in. “I never would have said that stuff if you’d just told me you liked her—”
“I don’t like her.” I kept looking at my data.
“Deacon, come on.” He grabbed my laptop and pushed it shut.
I turned to him, already hating this new living situation. “I don’t. But…I care about her. She’s my friend, I guess.”
Tucker continued to stare at me, his arms across his chest. “Is that really how you feel?”
“I said that was how I felt, didn’t I?” I drank from my beer.
Instead of reading between the lines, he accepted what I said, knowing I meant everything literally. “I’m sorry I offended you, man. I just haven’t seen a woman that…”
My eyes narrowed.
“Attractive…in a long time. Come on, she’s stunning. I don’t know why she’s waiting on an asshole like you when she could be modeling lingerie or something.”
I began to realize Cleo was more than I assumed she would be. She’d proven me wrong many times, getting stuff done without making a mistake, performing other tasks that weren’t part of her job criteria. She had the kind of emotional intelligence that I didn’t have, stuff I’d read about in textbooks. We were completely opposite, but she didn’t make me feel opposite.
“Would it really be the end of the world if I asked her out?”
I opened my laptop again.
He slammed his hand down.
I turned to him, fury in my gaze. “Touch my laptop again, and your ass is on the street.”
He pulled his hand away.
I opened the lid.
“Maybe if you paid attention to the person speaking to you, that wouldn’t happen.”
Cleo never did that. She never even acted annoyed—as if she didn’t take my behavior personally.
“So, is it cool with you if I ask her out?”
“Why are you asking my permission?”
“Because you’re protective of her like a watchdog.”
I was not protective of her. She seemed like a woman who could take care of herself.
“Is that a yes?”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Tucker. There are a lot of beautiful women in Manhattan. Forget about her.”
He shook his head. “Seeing her dressed like… I mean…that’s hard to do.”
“She probably has a boyfriend.”
“Could you ask?”
I set my beer down. “I’m not going to ask her that.”
“Why? You just said you’re friends.”
“But I don’t ask her stuff like that.”
“Do you ask her anything at all?”
I was quiet, because I realized I’d never asked her a single personal question, hadn’t even asked how her day was. I just issued orders and watched her take care of me without any regard for herself.
“I’ll feel her out over the next few weeks. If I feel like she’s into me, I’ll ask her out.”
“No.”
He raised an eyebrow. “So, no, I can’t ask her out? Make up your mind, Deacon.”
“If you’re going to do the same shit you do at the bar, then no.”
“You mean, ask a woman for consensual sex?” he asked incredulously.
“Yes. If she’s just a piece of ass, then no. If you actually like her…that’s different.”
“Not protective at all…” he said sarcastically.
“I see her almost every day. I don’t want you to do something to make it weird. I need her.”
“Men and women hook up and move on all the time. It’s not weird.”
“Just drop it, Tucker.” I raised my hand to shut him up.
He fell silent, but his eyes were annoyed with my decision. After a long stretch of silence, he changed the subject. “You want to go out tonight?”
I assumed he meant to a bar to pick up women. “You don’t think that will be weird?”
“Our bedrooms are nowhere near each other. You think we can both go two weeks without getting laid?”
Now that I was getting sex on a regular basis, I didn’t want to stop. It lowered my stress, helped me sleep at night, satisfied a biological component that I couldn’t delete. I didn’t need socializing, but I still needed sex. “Just let me finish this up. Then we’ll go.”