I try to pull off a careless shrug like I've seen him do, but my stupid, burning cheeks betray me. "Fine," I admit. "I was just curious. What were you working on that had you so absorbed for so long?"
"You must have noticed that I love tech." He nods towards the book I abandoned.
"Oh. Yes. I definitely noticed," I say dryly. Between that book, his fully-automated Seattle house, his library, the ridiculously overcomplicated security systems? Yeah. It's hard not to notice. "Do you work in tech or something?"
"Or something." He smiles faintly, snapping his laptop shut.
"So, you were doing tech-y things on your computer?" I question when he annoyingly doesn't say anything again. Can't he see I'm curious?
"You could say that," he answers mysteriously—the asshole.
I groan. The most frustrating man alive. "It's unfair that you probably know all there is to know about me, but getting to know you is like pulling teeth."
