“Look, I’m here to meet—”

“Fate is a fickle thing,” Isaiah says, obviously posing against the bar, flexing his arms like I’m going to drop trou right then and there and hold my asscheeks apart. “Can bring two people back together after all this time. Makes you think, doesn’t it?”

“Wow,” I say. “That was pretty damn smooth. Good job.”

He winks at me. “Thanks. So glad to know it’s working.”

“It’s really not, though,” I reassure him. “But it’s nice to know you’re trying.”

His smile fades a little. “Huh. That’s… disheartening. Do I need to up my game a little? Because I can do that.”

“You can? Jesus, that’s impressive.”

“Is it now?” he says as the bartender sets his drink before him. He lifts the tumbler and takes a long, slow sip, never taking his eyes off of me. “Good to know you think I’m impressive.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you were thinking.”

I wince. “Okay, now it’s a little creepy.”

He laughs. “Oh, man. I forgot how you could be. It’s good to know some things don’t change.”

I don’t know if that’s a compliment or if I’m being insulted. There’s an equal chance for both. I need to change the subject as quickly as possible. Or even better, get him to leave before Otter gets here and sees him standing so close to me and possibly decides that it’s okay to commit murder. I don’t want to be a single father. “So, how’s life?”

“Good, good,” he says, a devilish smirk on his face. “I work in advertising up in Seattle.”

“How appropriately vague. What do you advertise?”

“This and that,” he says, running his finger over the rim of his drink. “I love small talk.”

“Great,” I say. “I’m a teacher, since you were rude and didn’t ask.”

He gapes at me a little. “You? You’re a teacher?”

I frown. “Ye-es?”

“That is not something I would have expected.”

“Why?”

He cocks his head at me. “Because of your whole… being.”

“I’m going to choose to take that as a compliment.”

“As you should,” he says, reaching over and patting the top of my hand, lingering far longer than was proper. “Oh hey, would you look at that. We’re in a hotel. And I just happen to have a hotel room. Isn’t that ironic?”

“Well, no, that’s not what irony means, so.”

“God,” Isaiah says. “That’s hot.”

I squint at him. “What.”

“I like it when you talk. I always did.”

“How much have you had to drink?”

He grins. “Why? Are you trying to get me drunk, Bear? So you can have your way with me?”

I laugh.

He looks at me pointedly.

“Oh my god,” I say. “You’re being—”