The brush of his hand against mine leaves a tingle down trailing down my spine as I hand him his coffee. My eyes instantly find his, but his baby blues look away before I can decipher what I see in them. Did he feel the spark too?
No.
Probably not.
I shake off the feeling as he goes to sit down, and I pull out my phone to check the status of the dating app. Maybe I’ll have some luck with it, and I can move on to someone who’s more my speed. It alerts me to eight new notifications as soon as I open it.
I’ve matched with almost every guy I swiped right on last night.
Huh.
I didn’t think I was going to match with one person let most of them. And who’s even been on this thing in the last seven hours?
“What the fuck,” I whisper to no one as I open the first DM and then the second.
Dick pics.
Every one of these messages has a freaking dick pic in it. Do these guys really think they are going to get a date from showing off their penises?
“Ew,” I say out loud. This guy definitely has herpes.
I groan and pinch the bridge of my nose. Why can’t this be easy? I’m going out of my way to try. And sure, I understand it’s been less than twelve hours since this new revelation, but this morning has been a serious bust.
I think I’m a lost cause at this point.
I hear the doorbell chime again and without looking up from my phone I recite the customary phrase that I only say about half the time. “Welcome to Beach Brew, how may I help you?” I chant with no enthusiasm.
When I finally look up, I’m staring down the barrel of a gun raised by a man in a mask.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” I grind out before he can say what I think he’s going to say.
Chapter 2
Lucas
My mornings are extremely routine. I wake up, brush my teeth, do a thirty-minute workout, shower, change, and then head to the coffee shop to fuck around on my laptop. I carefully plan and execute each part of this routine because I have a type A personality and my job depends on me being reliable.
When I got this new gig and had to up and move to a different town, I made sure that I carefully planned my schedule around my new life. I have to account for every variable.
The only problem is, I didnotexpect this one.
I’ve been slightly distracted by the awkward interaction between me and the barista. Her smile was so forced I thought there might be something wrong. But it gave me the chance to let my gaze falter on her for more than the three seconds I allow each morning, and I wasn’t going to waste it.
The girl, or I should say woman, is gorgeous. Her forest green eyes are captivating, and they stand out against her summer tan and pastel pink hair. Her whole demeanor screams “I don’t care, so fuck off,” and for some reason that has my cocktwitching in my pants. It doesn’t help that the Tahitian vanilla scent that wafts off her skin is like an aphrodisiac.
The first time I walked into this place she wasn’t paying attention, so I had the upper hand at getting a good look at her before she saw me. And to say I wasn’t disappointed is an understatement. She's all long, lean lines for such a short little thing, and more beautiful than anyone I’ve ever seen. As soon as she opened her mouth to speak, her melodic voice was in complete contrast to her no-bullshit attitude. She is the complete opposite type of woman I usually go for. Something my body doesn’t get the memo about.
But I can’t have any distractions on this assignment, so I gave myself that single moment to take a good hard look at her and told myself that the only contact she and I will have is during the brief interaction when I order my coffee each morning. Nothing more, nothing less.
Boring. I know.
My distracted mind has caught up with me and is a few seconds too late in seeing the looming threat that is about to rob this place.
That’s when I hear, “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
If the guy wasn’t holding a gun, I would probably smile at her outburst.
I don’t think he saw me sitting in the corner, or maybe he did and just doesn’t care. But my training and instincts kick in and I silently rise from the comfort of the brown leather couch as he demands money from the register.
