Running late. Order me a matcha latte!
Matcha. Ugh.
I headed inside and took my place in line, thinking about my list. I would need to do more research before I approached the next candidate, especially in the region of current relationships. The archives of that rumor-soaked rag, Hot Goss, might be useful here. Another column for my spreadsheet.
Behind me, a deep voice interrupted my thoughts. “I hear caffeine is bad for conception.”
Of all the coffee shops …
Because I wasn’t a rude person, I turned to face him.
Good God, he was handsome.
The shock almost bowled me over. My dislike of Jason Isner should be the primary emotion here, but apparently my lizard brain had activated, and I could only now view him sexually. A barrel-chested, broad-shouldered, thick-thighed warrior, who would know exactly how to please a woman.
Perhaps that wasn’t a bad thing. I certainly didn’t want to view him in any other way. Keeping him in his muscle-bound box as a sex object was far safer.
Those eyes, the ones that contributed to his nickname, the Green-Eyed Monster, were doing some sort of sparkling nonsense. Very odd, considering they usually held nothing but contempt for me. Perhaps it was the glimmer that pulled me in, making me notice more details this time. A bump at the bridge of his nose. That scar above his eyebrow, from when he got struck during a particularly brutal playoffs game three years ago. Sensuous lips, the bottom one a little plumper than the top.
I shook myself back to reality, the one where this man was the enemy.
“And what would you know about conception?”
“Just what I read in Scientific American.”
“You read?”
“Scientific American. Yep.”
“No, I was commenting on the fact you read. Period.”
He did one of those finger gun gestures. “I see what ya did there. Move up.”
“Move—?”
He touched my elbow. “Almost time to order, Francesca.”
Francesca? No one called me that, except the former head of my department at Lakeshore University and Cade Burnett, one of Rosie’s dads. To everyone else I was Dr. St. James or Franky. Discombobulated, I turned back and closed the gap on the person ahead of me.
I was suddenly hyperaware of the blistering energy behind me. I wanted to turn. I wanted to stay stock still. I preferred to ignore him, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had made an impact.
I was about to turn back when, thankfully, the person in front of me completed their order.
I stepped up. “Hello, could I please have a Matcha latte, medium, and a Jasmine tea, also medium?”
“I can get this.” Jason moved beside me, closer than necessary, his hip touching mine.
“That’s quite alright.”
“You won’t let me buy you a coffee to apologize?”
“I—” The female cashier, who had evidently recognized the great Jason Isner, was clearly wondering why I was not falling to my knees in gratitude. “Apologize for what?”
“Let me pay and I’ll tell you.”
Sean must have put him up to it. Rosie had also given me the side eye when I shared the broad strokes of our childhood beef. Perhaps she told him. My sister was fond of stirring the pot.
“Okay, that would be acceptable.”
