“I’m vibrating with annoyance,” I shoot back. “Can’t a man get a drink without an inquisition?”
“Not when you’ve checked your phone a dozen times and keep staring at the food app,” Tyler says flatly.
My throat works around a hard swallow. He doesn’t miss a damn thing.
“You’re acting weird,” Tyler adds, his tone shifting.
Trent chimes in before I can respond. “No, man, he’s acting romantic. Our Axel’s growing up.”
“I’m just un-caffeinated,” I retort, pointing at both of them. “Go live your lives.”
I edge toward the door like I’m testing an electric fence.
“Meeting in fifteen,” Tyler calls after me. “Don’t be late.”
“Bring a muffin!” Trent shouts.
I flip them off without turning, but their laughter trails me out.
In my truck, I bow my head against the wheel. The leather’s cool under my forehead, but my skin still feels too hot, stretched tight. They’re right, that’s the worst part. The usual easygoing hum inside me’s gone, replaced by this restless, electric thrum. I actually want her to notice me again. I want to see her eyes flick up, startled, then light when she realizes I exist, even if it’s irritation sparking there.
I start the engine.
Fine. Face it, Axel, your whole morning just rearranged itself around Sadie’s reaction.
Pulling out of the lot, I check my watch. If I hustle, I can get to Pike’s Perk and back before the meeting. Not that I’d everadmit I’m doing this for the rare, genuine smile that slips across her face when she doesn’t think anyone’s looking.
Except that’s exactly what I’m doing, and I can’t even pretend I’m ashamed.
I slide into a spot in Pike’s Perk’s lot and kill the engine. My phone buzzes: Order ready for pickup. My thumb taps it automatically, and my gaze snags on my reflection in the rearview, eyes a little too bright, jaw a little too tight.
"It’s just coffee," I mutter at my own reflection but it does little good. "You’re losing your mind over a woman who hasn’t smiled at you once." I scrub a hand over my jaw. "Get your shit together."
My reflection keeps staring back at me with that look, the one that says I already know exactly what I'm doing and I'm doing it anyway. Which is true. Which is the part I don't love.
With every step toward Pike’s Perk, my body tightens. My forearms, jaw, something lower and harder that has no business waking up this early. The second I see her through the glass, everything else fades away. Just her, those legs, that ass, the way her back holds tension like she’s waiting for a fight. I want to see her lose that control, right in front of me.
Behind the counter, Sadie moves like a metronome. Dark hair in that familiar messy bun, though one loose strand brushes the graceful curve of her neck each time she turns. Shadows bruised under her eyes, her jaw locked so hard the muscle there flexes with whatever she’s biting back. She passes a cup to an older man with a quick, efficient smile that disappears the instant he turns away. Her gaze sweeps the room, shoulders squared, spine straight, already braced for whatever might land in front of her. The air around her reads like a do-not-cross line, rigid and deliberate.
I hold my breath.
She turns to hand off an order and that loose strand of hair swings with her, brushing the side of her neck, and I watch her reach up to tuck it back without breaking stride.
My eyes track down before I can stop them. The line of her shoulders. The way her shirt pulls across them when she reaches. She's not tall but she takes up space like she is, all that coiled tension making her seem bigger, more present than the room she's standing in. Her hands move fast and certain over the machine, and I think about those hands in a way I've got no business thinking about them.
I press my palm flat against the cold glass of the window and tell myself to get it together.
It doesn't work.
The want is sharp, physical—a punch right to the gut and lower. Gets worse every time she moves, every time I imagine what she’d sound like saying my name. It’s been years since I’ve wanted a woman this bad, bad enough to lose sleep, bad enough to feel it every time I shift in my seat. I’m not leaving until I get what I came for, though, a flicker of attention, a crack in that armor, something just for me.
I want to see a real smile. Not the professional, hollow grin she plasters on for customers. I’ve cataloged every version of that one and none of them reach her eyes. I want the real thing, the kind that probably sneaks up on her when she's not guarding against it. I want to hear her laugh, low and unguarded, the laugh I'm convinced she keeps buried somewhere underneath all that steel.
I want a lot of things I'm not going to say out loud.
I shove the door open before I can think of another reason to stand here staring at her like an idiot.
Everything in me goes taut.
