Seeing my eyes flick from the fruit to him, Trent made a questioning face. He wasn’t going to offer them to me, so I reached out and took them. “Takata’s car isn’t nicer than yours,” I said, upending the container over the remains of my waffle. “I was just jerking you around.”

“I figured that out,” he said wryly. He wasn’t eating, and I looked up to see him with knife and fork in hand, watching me scrape the last of the strawberries out with my butter knife.

“What?” I said as I put the crock down. “You weren’t going to have any more.”

He carefully cut another square of waffle. “You’ve been in contact with Takata, then?”

I shrugged. “Ivy and I are working security at his concert next Friday.” I wedged a small bite into my mouth and closed my eyes as I chewed. “This is really good.” He didn’t say anything, and my eyes opened. “Are you—ah—going?”

“No.”

Turning back to my plate, I glanced at him from around my hair. “Good.” I ate another bite. “The man is something else; when we talked, he was wearing orange pants. And he’s got his hair out to here.” I gestured, showing Trent. “But you probably know him. Personally.”

Trent was still working on his waffle with the steady pace of a snail. “We met once.”

Content, I slid all the strawberries off the remnants of my waffle and concentrated on them. “He picked me up off the street, gave me a ride, dumped me off on the expressway.” I smiled. “At least he had someone bring my car along. Have you heard his early release?” Music. I could always keep the conversation going if it was about music. And Trent liked Takata. I knew that much about him.

“ ‘Red Ribbons’?” Trent asked, an odd intentness to his voice.

Nodding, I swallowed and pushed my plate away. There were no more strawberries, and I was full. “Have you heard it?” I asked, settling back in my chair with my coffee.

“I’ve heard it.” Leaving a shallow wedge of waffle uneaten, Trent set his fork down and pushed it symbolically away. His hands went to his tea and he leaned back in his chair. I went to take a sip of coffee, freezing as I realized Trent had mirrored both my posture and my motion.

Oh, crap. He likes me. Mirroring motions was classic in the body language of attraction. Feeling as if I’d stumbled into somewhere I didn’t want to go, I intentionally leaned forward and put the flat of my arm on the table, my fingers encircling my warm mug of coffee. I wouldn’t play this game. I wouldn’t!

“ ‘You’re mine, yet wholly you,’” Trent said dryly, clearly oblivious to my thoughts. “The man has no sense of discretion. It’s going to catch up with him someday.”