“Can I steal Shay for a few minutes? I need to talk to her about something important. It has to do with . . . her dissertation committee.”

He nods eagerly. “Please do. She’s not even supposed to be here.” I didn’t notice, but now that he mentions it, Shay’s not even dressed for work. Everyone who serves here wears jeans or a skirt and a Jackson Brews T-shirt, but Shay is dressed in a sweater dress that hugs her curves like whoever designed it was on a mission to torture me. “Cindy’s pissed that she’s going to make fewer tips because she has to work back here with Shay.”

“I told her she can have the tips.”

“And I told you that you aren’t needed,” Jake says. He turns back to me. “The only reason she’s here is because she’s procrastinating.”

“Luckily, I can help with that,” I say, smiling at Shay. “Why don’t you grab a drink and meet me back there?” I point a thumb toward the back of the bar and head that way without another word. I’m better off not giving her the opportunity to deny me.

I slide into a booth, knowing there’s a good chance she won’t follow.

When she does, she doesn’t take the seat across from me. She stands at the foot of the table like she’s my fucking waitress or something. “What?”

Fine. We’ll do it her way. I take a breath. “I just got back from Chicago.”

“Obviously.”

“I saw Professor D—George while I was there.”

She lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “His daughter lives in Chicago. He spends half his week there.”

George has a daughter. Didn’t think Professor Douche had it in him. I wonder if the blonde knows. Or maybe the daughter is a convenient lie that allows him to lead a double life. “Shay, he was with somebody else.”

She folds her arms and frowns. “Were you spying on him?”

It’s official. She thinks I’m a psycho. Can I blame her? “It was a total coincidence that we were at the same restaurant, but it was a lucky one, if you think about it. I know it’s not my business. I know you want me to stay out of your relationship—”

“And yet here we are.”

“He was all over this woman.”

She just stares at me.

Jesus. Was I wrong about this? Does she have some sort of open relationship with this guy? It seems so out of character. “That doesn’t bother you at all?”

I swear hurt flashes in her eyes before she cuts her eyes away from me. “It doesn’t matter.”

How the fuck does that not matter? “Because you broke up?”

“Because we’re . . . seeing other people.”

“Clearly he is seeing other people. What other people are you seeing?”