“Don’t wanna try it?”
“No, thanks. But thanks for the coffee.”
Saul makes one of those faces that combines acknowledgement with disapproval, but it doesn’t reach me, not tonight. He pushes away from the counter and walks out of the deli, heading to the patio.
That’s when I see … him.
The way his searing blue eyes meet mine the instant I spot him between the aisles makes me feel like he was watching me. Of course, that’s what Iwantto feel, but I let myself believe it. I need the fantasy.
He’s wearing a tailored three-piece black suit, a very expensive one, minus the jacket. His vest skims a lean but obviously powerful torso. He’s big and really well built, but there’s still a grace to him. His sleeves and pants, which follow the lines of his body without being tight, are slightly rumpled, as though this is the end of what’s been a long day. His dark brown hair, wavy and so damn sexy, is combed back as usual, baring that perfect, chiseled face.
“How’s the coffee tonight?” he asks.
“Eh, it’s okay,” I answer with automatic honesty then try to correct, “I mean—”
“It’s weak. It always is.”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
His lips quirk. “I’ll take a cup anyway.”
“Oh. Sure. Great.”
I hurry over to the machine kind of ridiculously. I don’t know why I’m so flustered when I was pretty damn chill a minute ago. (I do know why. Obviously. But still, it’s ridiculous, and I’m acutely aware of the fact.)
I fill a cup and slide it to him. He pays with cash, like always, so I don’t get to learn his name from a credit card. I don’t know how to ask for it, and he’s never offered.
But he’s used my name several times. It always makes my heart skip, then it makes me feel kind of dumb because, yeah, duh, it’s on my name tag.
He puts a lid on the cup. “So you like strong coffee and dark chocolate. I see a pattern.”
He leaves a gap of time for me to reply, but I’m silent. I’m not good at banter, and I’d rather hear his voice than my own.
“You like intensity,” he concludes.
My face heats as though somehow it’s obvious what happened to me last night—and how I responded to it.
He waits again, so I try to reply. “I … um … yeah. I guess so.”
He smiles slightly. “Goodnight, Elias.”
I forget to answer as I watch him walk away. I’m too busy drinking in the sight of him, his broad shoulders and tight waist accentuated by the vest, the curve of his ass hinted at with each step, the shape of his strong legs a barely-there tease. My eyes snag on his feet, glossy black shoes—and a trailing shoelace.
“Wait!”
Most people would wheel around at such a call, surprised and hunting for the reason, but he just stops at the endcap of an aisle. Then, slowly, he turns.
I can’t explain what makes me leave the deli counter and walk toward him. It’s not planned or purposeful. I just … do it. Like he’s drawing me to him.
There’s no question in his intense gaze, only a mild curiosity.
I stop a few feet away. “Your, um, shoe.”
Then I do another thing I can’t explain, this one even stranger than chasing after him, even more out of character. And yet, it feels entirely right and natural when I crouch at his feet, so right that my hands are steady as I reach for his laces.
“Mmm,” he hums. With any other person, I would take the sound to mean,Oh, I see. My shoelace is untied.But from him, it feels like,Oh, good boy.
I tie his shoe, keenly aware of the solidity of his foot under my fingers. They linger there when I’m done. I look up, gazing along the length of his body to his tilted-down face. I shiver. My cock hardens.
