Skye ordered and paid for her cocoa with the remaining balance left on a gift card Spencer had given her six months ago on her birthday. She wasn’t sad to see the card go. She was eager to rid herself of all things Spencer. She stepped back to wait.
While the men lounged, the elderly women wobbled, bracing themselves against a counter behind one of the couches. The menpropped their legs on the coffee tables, laughing and joking. Not one of them offered their seats.
Maybe it was the rock sitting in her pocket or the men’s rude behavior, but an acute hatred of all things male burst forth, finally finding that outlet. Skye rolled her shoulders and stiffened her spine. She marched to the corner, dropped her backpack on the floor, and slapped the closest asshole on the back of his head.
“Get up,” she said with more fury than intended. “Since when was it okay to run over old ladies and make them stand while you sit? Give up your damn seat!”
“What the fuck?” The tall one who’d held the door for her glanced up.
Skye jutted her chin forward and met the intensity of his gaze. Emerald green sparked and then shifted to follow her finger pointing toward the women. Frieda struggled to sip her coffee, fine tremors shaking her hand. Liquid sloshed over the rim, covering her hand and spilling onto the counter.
Skye poked his shoulder, a growl growing in her throat. “Get your sorry ass off the couch, and let them sit.”
The buff one with curly hair, who’d winked at her, gave an indignant snort. “Pretty girl, do you have any idea who you’re talking to?”
She put fists to her hips and lifted her chin. “Five men without a brain between them. Does it matter?” His mouth opened, but before he could speak, she held up a hand. “Seems to me you think being somebody is more important than good manners.”
She turned her attention back to the one who’d held the door. The tattoo on his neck, a web with a dragon, distracted her. She shook her head and refocused her anger. “Do you even realize your friends practically knocked down those poor ladies in their rush to get inside?”
A beefy man with piercings in his brows, nose, and lips shifted on the couch. “It’s fucking cold outside.”
“And you think those ladies were warm and toasty?” She lifted her jacket. “Newfangled invention, wiseass. It’s called a jacket. You’ll be surprised at the amazing warming properties it has.”
The green-eyed hunk snorted a laugh.
She pointed at each of the men in turn. “Did your mothers fail to teach you common courtesy? How would you feel if someone made your grandmother stand? Were you assholes raised by wolves?”
Green eyes huffed another laugh. He unfolded a lean body full of muscle to tower over her diminutive frame. He had the trim body of a swimmer with broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. He stood entirely too close for her comfort, but she held her ground, which forced her to look up into his handsome and somehow familiar face. Her pulse jumped, but she refused to be intimidated by his size.
“Wolves? Not exactly. My mother did, however, teach me that a true lady never swore.” He laughed, filling the air with a soft, velvety thrum.
Damn, what a voice.Male, deep. Nice. Really nice and layered with tonal qualities she’d never experienced before.
Her broken heart stirred in the strangest way, probably latching on to the wrong thing.
Her cheeks burned with the insult, and she readied herself to give him another piece of her mind. But, first, she had to meet the power of his impossibly green eyes. They barely looked real, but she’d peeled enough cosmetic contacts out of other people’s eyes to know a natural green when she saw it.
And, now, she was staring. She lowered her gaze to the tattoo covering the entirety of his neck—a spiderweb with a dragon perched in the center, clutching a blackbird in its claw.
She endured the full force of his intoxicating scent—woodsy spice mingled with the aroma of coffee—and paused to admire him. The man was a potent combination of sight, smell, and sound.
A smirk tilted the corner of his lips, and a twinkle danced in his eyes. The cocky bastard knew the effect he was having on her. His stance broadened, and he puffed out his chest. She took a step back and regrouped, clearing her throat, before pointing again to the women.
He lifted his chin at his friend with all the piercings. “Get up, Spike.”
“Damn it, Ash.” Spike sipped from his cup. “Just when I was getting cozy, too.” But the big man rose and stepped over to the opposite couch. He took a seat on the armrest.
Spike’s hard gaze latched on to Skye. She shifted her attention back to Ash and his stunning eyes.
Ash called out to Frieda and her friend, gesturing to the vacated seats, “Ladies, it has come to my attention that we have been exceedingly rude. Please, have a seat.” His mouth twitched into a smile as he glanced at Skye. Taking the women’s cups, he stepped out of the way while they settled themselves.
The barista called out Skye’s name and set her hot cocoa on the counter. What a perfect opportunity to make an exit. Skye collected her drink and left the coffee shop in a daze. Although trained in defense, she hated altercations, yet she’d faced down five strangers because Spencer had stirred her anger.
An icy gust beat at her as she headed to the Metro. A few blocks later, stairs led down into the subway and welcomed the morning commuters. She clutched her drink as she hurried down the steps to merge into the crowd.
Something felt off, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. She patted her scrubs and felt the diamond safe in her pocket. Her lanyard with her badge swung around her neck. She tucked it back inside herheavy coat, but she sensed she had forgotten something. It was probably just her nerves.
Someone behind her called out, “Miss!”
