Max had warned you Alec might be stopping by. Something about her telling him to get a job instead of robbery and sketchy side hustles. So now apparently Crash was his new home.

Lucky you.

He leaned on the bar like he owned the place. “So,” he said, voice smooth enough to drown in, “you’re the one who gets to train me. I’m already feeling inspired.”

You didn’t bother looking up from pouring a drink. “Keep dreaming.”

“Oh, I intend to… How about we skip the rejections and get to know each other better? Huh sweetheart?”

You slid the drink down the bar, turned to face him, and gave him a dry look. “Here’s how this works. You don’t hit on the other bartenders, you don’t steal the tips, and if you even think about drinking on the job, I will tase you.”

He blinked, impressed. “Kinky.”

“Not a compliment.”

“Still sounded like one.”

You sighed and handed him a rag. “Dry the glasses. With your hands, not your charm.”

Alec got to work, “So how long before you admit I’m growing on you?”

“You’re not.”

“Liar. You smirked a little when I said the thing about the taser.”

“That was me thinking about using it.”

He laughed—he knew he could get under your skin and was already making himself comfortable there. But he didn’t push it. Not really. Sure, he flirted like it was a reflex, but when you shut him down, he backed off with a wink and a grin instead of getting pissy or pushy.

After a few nights, he was getting better—at bartending, reading the crowd, and even at sneaking your favorite drink into your hand at the end of your shift without saying a word.

“You know,” he said, slinging a towel over his shoulder and leaning in just close enough to make your breath hitch, “I’ve been thinking.”

“Dangerous,” you muttered.

“If you’re gonna keep pretending you’re not into me, the least you could do is teach me how to fake it back.”

You turned to him slowly, and deadpan. “Alec?”

“Yeah?”

“If I wanted to stare at something pretty and useless, I’d buy a lava lamp. Dry the damn glasses.”

He grinned wide. “On it, boss.”