I’m better than this.
* * *
Make Your Choice:
say something to him(go to 10)
let it go(go to 13)
go back(go to 3)
“Excuse me,” I say in my calmest voice.“Can I get?—”
“Just one second,” Sarah says, smiling over Lucky’s shoulder.
My jaw clenches as I smile back.“It’s just that there are a lot of people waiting, and?—”
The man in front of me turns.He is one of the most attractive men I’ve ever seen, second only to Sterling.Rye-whiskey eyes, five-o’clock shadow, and a wicked smile.He’s dressed for comfort.Either he rolled out of someone’s bed or he’s ready to roll into one.
I stand taller, fighting the urge to hunch and hide my chest.It’s a beacon of attention—wanted or not.
And I do want it.
He speaks over his shoulder, gaze never leaving mine, his eyes glimmering with bright amusement.“It’s all right, Sarah.I’ll let you get back to work.Just wanted to come and say hey.”
As he pushes off the counter, I fill the empty space, but he stays close, and now all I can think about is his body heat and the scent of leather and smoke.It’s intoxicating—rebellious and decadent in the way all bad decisions are—and I need to get my coffee before I do something embarrassing, like fall into his arms.
“A caramel latte and a fresh bacon and cheese sandwich to go.”
A hand shoots out when I go for my wallet.Lucky holds a crisp bill out across the counter.It’s a hundred.A tactic to impress me?Or does he just have enough money to not care?
“Let me,” he says.“An apology for holding you up.”
I push it away.“I can pay for myself.”
“I’m sure you can.”He nods to Sarah.“Make it two.”
“Sure thing.”Sarah smiles, taking his money.
I step aside to wait, and Lucky comes with me.
There are fine lines at the corners of his eyes that crinkle when he smiles.I suspect he never stops.
“Thank you,” I say.
You can take the girl off the farm, but the manners stick like glue.
“Having a bad day?”
“Only when someone thinks the morning rush is the perfect time to flirt,” I counter.“News flash: not every person you meet thinks you’re as amazing as you obviously do.”
He’s close.Temptingly so.If my body is a compass, he’s north, pulling my attention, begging me to turn my head.A shiver runs through me.
I can’t stop myself.I look over to find him watching me, his eyes shining.Why is it always the hot ones who are the most trouble?
“I don’t always,” he says, as if that’s meant to mean something to me.
“Excuse me?”
