“We did it together.”
“We’re going to do a lot more together.”
“Hm-hm,” she agrees, her voice lazy, her body relaxed and loose like mine.
I reluctantly remove my fingers, and she turns to me as I’m licking them. “How do you taste so fucking good?”
“A woman’s come doesn’t have a taste.”
“Yours does.”
She smiles, her face flushed from her orgasm. “Let me taste you too.” Lexie lowers to a crouch, her tongue darting out to slide over the damp head of my cock.
I nearly asphyxiate on my own groan.
“Mmm.” She licks her lips. “Kinda salty and smells of you. I want to make you come this way . . . with my mouth. Will you show me how?”
Jesus Christ. I bring her to her feet before I lose it again. This woman is going to kill me, and I’ll die a happy man. “If I didn’t have to open the café . . .”
“Delayed gratification,” she says. Her eyes are brighter than I’ve ever seen them, and her smile is pure sunshine. “We’ll be thinking about it all day, dying to rip the clothes off of each other.”
“I don’t know if I’ll make it that long.”
“I have faith in you.” She squeezes my ass, and I steal a kiss before we wash up.
We share the bathroom, brushing our teeth, talking, and laughing. She swipes on mascara and blush while I trim my beard and restore my afro with moisturizing spray. She picks out a black, ribbed Henley for me, claiming it’s one of her favorites. Then, quick and playful, we grab breakfast.
I slide a napkin across the table with a scribbled note and winky face.
She laughs and kisses me. It’s the kind of morning I could imagine having with her every day.
The good, warm feeling carries me through the café’s usual routine. Everything seems lighter. Every shared glance from across the counter, every accidental-on-purpose touch, has me counting the hours until we close.
Whenever I catch her laughing with a customer, it hits me again how much she’s changed since her arrival. The careful, guarded woman I met is now more open—freer. I love watching her confidently come into her own.I love her.
That recurring thought lands like a pebble in a pond, rippling through my chest. The words have hovered on the tip of my tongue for days now, burning hot. But I haven’t said them.
Dice strolls in around ten-thirty, his swagger on full display. After ordering the Awake blend, he suggests that Lexie stop by Docks one night for a drink. “I bet your order is something classic with a twist—like an apple martini.”
“Close,” she says, impressed. “Crantini. How’d you guess?”
“It’s a gift.” He grins, stroking his beard. “Classy with a hint of rebellion.”
She laughs, but it’s a bang-on description.
“And how does this gift of yours work at winning over women?” she teases.
“Like a charm.” He winks.
I’m not bothered by his banter. Dice would flirt with a nun—it’s part of his DNA. But I still believe there’s a woman out there who’ll show him he’s more than just a player. For all his jokes and nonchalance about relationships, I can see there’s a void in him—one that was created by his shit-excuse for parents. It’s the kind of void someone special could help fill. I know because that’s what Lexie has done for me.
The anger over my father’s death—that rage—will always be there, but she softens it, making the dark thoughts lighter.
“Stop hitting on my woman,” I interject, slapping the towel on the counter where he’s leaning. “She’s not interested.”
Unfazed, Dice smirks. “What do you say, Lex? Dump this clown and run off with me.”
“Hmm. Crantinis or lattes?” She tilts her head, pretending to weigh the options with her hands. “Tough call, but I’m sticking with lattes and dimples.”
