“Well, that was fun.”

I rest my hand on Zach’s arm to keep him back while Ben enters the store ahead of us. I’m not normally this slow with cute boy signals, but I think I finally figured Zach’s out over lunch. The blush isn’t over Ben; it’s over me. He likes me, or at least finds me attractive. And that, oh hell, yeah, I can work with that.

As lunch progressed, Zach began to lighten up. He didn’t stop to carefully choose his words, and he smiled more, although still mostly at Ben. But there were a few glances my way. And oh god, the way he ate his soup was hell on my pants, which aren’t usually so tight.

“You should give me your number so we can do it again sometime.”

Zach utters a slightly inhuman sound I’m positive can’t be found in a dictionary, and a fresh new flush blooms across his cheeks in a delicious shade of “Bite Me.” I’m not giving him the opportunity to say no, so I pull out my phone and open up the contacts. I wait expectantly and shake my phone in front of his face.

“Your number?”

After he dictates it to me, I send him a quick “Hi” text and winky face. His phone dings audibly from his pocket, and he startles, almost like he wasn’t expecting me to actually text him, much less do so immediately.

“There, now you have my number too. I’ll text you later to set something up. Do you like sushi?”

He blinks for a minute before my question sinks in, then smiles in surprise. “I love it.”

“Perfect. I know a great place in Old Town.”

“Suzushi’s?” When I nod, his enthusiasm increases and his shyness subsides a little. “It’s my favorite. Are you a roll or a sushi guy?” His eyes narrow skeptically, like this is a quiz I need to pass.

“Both. I like the variety.” I get an approving nod at that. “I’ve never had their bentos, though. I stick with the sushi.”

“Have you tried their crickets?”

My eyes bug out, pun intended, and his laughter is sweet in the air.

Ted coughs, and when I look back, he makes an obvious show of checking his watch. I roll my eyes, because there are only a couple of teenagers in the store right now, snickering at the pointy boobs on an old Tomb Raider game.

“Better get back to work. Friday night, Suzushi’s,” I say with a finger pointing to his chest. “We’ll see if you can get me to eat bugs.”

I reach the door leading toward the breakroom before glancing back to see him still awkwardly holding his hand up in a half-wave. Christ, I’m going to eat him up before we’re done.

* * *

Inventory takes forever on a Monday because all of the shipments unable to be delivered over the weekend arrive all at once. Ted and I quickly get in a groove, where I’m unboxing and scanning items, then he tags and stacks them for the shelves. I’m in the zone, scanning without paying attention because my thoughts are with a cute blond nerd, when Ted’s voice startles me back to the present.

“I’ve been trying to think of some new ideas for promotions. Business has been good so far this summer, but I don’t want to get stagnant. Do you have any ideas?” he says, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world for him to discuss business with me. Even though Ted seems like a nice guy and all, we’ve always had more of a he-gives-the-orders-and-I-follow-them type of relationship.

“Do you have anything already in the works?” I ask.

“There’s the Fourth of July parade,” he says, and I groan. We did that last year, and I wound up with a sunburn and blisters for a week. “Hey, we got a lot of business from that, so don’t knock it.”

“Hmmm, you could try a promotion in conjunction with another store. Like the dispensary next door. Buy a joint and get a free hour of game time in the gaming room.” Ted laughs, and I join along. “I think this could be a huge untapped market – the stoners who will sit in front of the computers for hours on end without even realizing it. Just think of the boom in business!”

With a shaking head, Ted claps my shoulder and dashes my hopes. “Sorry, but I don’t think the market potential outweighs all the soccer moms we’d lose when they found out about it.”

“Can’t alienate the soccer moms.”

“No, we certainly can’t,” he says with fake gravity. “Without them, we’d never have our Christmas bonuses off the sale of new consoles from Santa.”

“We get Christmas bonuses?” I ask, and smirk at his panicked expression.

We return to our comfortable working silence, but my brain won’t stop ruminating on his question. He’s never asked for my advice before, and I don’t want to disappoint. Unfortunately, there’s not a lot going on in Fort Collins during the summer except the Fourth of July and CSU starting back up.

“What about New West Fest?” I ask. “All the new CSU students go to it; it’s like their introduction to Fort Collins life. You could get a booth. Maybe give away some stickers or buttons. Have a raffle. I hear Ben is quite the expert at staffing booths.”

Ted gives me a weird look at that last part, but I can tell my idea has piqued his interest.

“That’s not a bad idea. Why don’t you come in early tomorrow and take the time to investigate it? See how much a booth would cost, giveaways, stuff like that. Then we can decide if it’s within our budget.”

Our budget. I know he means the store’s budget, but it still sends a few extra palpitations through my chest. It’s slightly pathetic how amazing that tiny bit of inclusion means to me. At least, that’s what the apathetic dickhead side of my personality mocks at me. The other part, the little boy who wishes someone would notice him, flips the dickhead the finger. He’s on cloud nine right now.

“Did you go to school for this?” I ask him. Video gaming doesn’t seem like an industry that needs a college education, but Ted really knows his stuff, and I wonder how much is instinctive rather than learned.

“I did, actually,” he says, setting down the boxes he was tagging so he can look at me. It’s like he’s seeing me with new eyes, and pride blossoms inside my chest. “I didn’t go right after high school like most people. I had other things going on. But in my mid-twenties, I came into some money. I knew that I wanted to open a game store, but I didn’t know how to do some of the basics, like how to incorporate a business or create profit and loss statements, financial stuff like that.”

I don’t respond other than with an interested hum, because now my mind whirls with new possibilities, like potential business applications for my schoolwork, even if I stuck with my job here. It’s something new to consider.

“Are you thinking about school?” Ted asks, but there’s no judgement in his eyes like I feel when most people bring up college at my age. Just the same interest as before.

“I’m still deciding. I’d only go part-time, so I could still work here,” I rush to reassure him.

“I’m not worried about that.” He waves off my concern, and then loads up his arms with freshly tagged boxes, nodding for me to do the same. “I’d work around your schedule, just like I do with everyone. I’ve been wondering how long it would take for you to realize that you have too much talent to be stuck working a cash register.”

I sigh at his inadvertently drilling to the root of my problem. “Even if I do get a degree, though, I still can’t think of anything I’d rather do than work here. Wouldn’t it be a big waste of time and money?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. One of your classes might uncover an interest you never knew you had.”

Victoria almost had me convinced that school wouldn’t be worth it, but Ted’s advice is awfully convincing too. Grr, now I’m even more confused than before.

On my walk home, the dispensary has some new t-shirts up in the window, and one reminds me of Zach. It has pictures of a chicken and a pot leaf next to a Greek pi symbol. Chicken pot pie. I snap a photo and shoot it off in a text to Zach.

Craig: This made me think of you.

I haven’t even made it past the window when my phone dings with a return text.

Zach: Because I’m a pothead???

I snort out a laugh so loud that several passersby notice.

Craig: No, because you’re a nerd.

I’ve already hit send before I analyze what I’ve written in context of what I know about Zach. Shit.

Craig: In a good way. Like, your t-shirts are nerdy and funny and I like them.

Rolling bubbles indicated he had started typing out a response, then stopped when I sent my follow-up attempt to stave off disaster. Now the bubbles are back. I realize I’ve stopped walking while I wait for his reply.

Zach: Don’t hurt yourself with all that backpedaling.

Zach: Seriously though. I wasn’t offended.

A shit-eating grin splits my face for the rest of my walk home. I’ve forgotten about school and work and any other troubles now that I’ve seen yet another side of Zach’s personality. I like a sassy Zach.