“Hi. Yes, I’ll get a”—I peer up at the board again—“fiesta breakfast burrito and a?—”
A man shoulders his way in front of me and cuts me off mid-order.
“Hey, dick?—”
Before I can say more, the dark blue uniform and the gun holstered to his side register, and I snap my mouth shut.
He turns and smirks at me, and I grit my teeth.Decker.
“Morning, Gracie.” His words are casual, but the way he looks at me is anything but. He studies me, assessing, his attention lingering too long. Like he looked at me last night. Before Sergeant Dickhead showed up to stealmybike. Before Decker took what he was there to acquire formeand kept it for himself. Before all that, he kind of looked at me like he wanted to see me without my clothes on.
And for a second, I thought the same thing. More than a second, actually. Under that truck, exploring him. All hard, rippling muscle, that trail of hair inviting my fingers lower. I may not have done all that much perusing, but already, it’s obvious that Decker’s body feels just as good as it looks. Any other situation, and I might have let myself enjoy those abs a little longer.
I’ve always gotten a little stupid around drool-worthy men. It’s how I’ve gotten myself into so much damn trouble. And men who look like Decker, who are insanely hot and fucking know it, are trouble.
I jerk my thumb over my shoulder. “Back of the line is that way,Officer.”
“I know where it is.” He leans against the counter, angling closer to the pretty blond-haired barista. “Hey, Ange. You having yourself a nice morning?”
She flushes instantly.
I roll my eyes. It’s the face. And the eyes. And those biceps bulging out of his perfectly pressed uniform. Asshole.
“Hi, Linc,” the barista—Ange—says. “Yes. Very nice, thank you. The usual?”
“Please.” He glances back at me. “And whatever she’s having.”
I fix him with a glare. “You can’t just waltz up to the front of the line like some entitled asshole and expect the rest of us to be okay with it. Wait your turn.”
He shrugs. “I’m on duty, Grace. I got shit to do. And no one else seems to mind.” He nods at the queue of people behind me.
Sure enough, not one person in line is paying attention—eyes on phones, casual small talk, one woman who’s tapping her foot and glaring atmeas ifI’mthe one holding everyone up.
I cross my arms and throw him a look. “Whatevershityou’ve got going will have to wait. That badge doesn’t give you the right to butt in line. And neither does that face.”
His smirk morphs into a full grin. “What about my face?”
I choke back a curse. “You know what you look like, Linc. But I was here first. Now move.”
“Mmm. No. But I’m paying. What was it again? Black with three sugars?”
Asshole.
With a forced smile, I nudge him aside with my hip and step closer to the counter. “Actually, I’ll have a triple shot mocha with extra caramel drizzle and extra whipped cream,” I tell the barista. “Please and thank you,” I add with a smile.
Decker scoffs. “You wanna little coffee with all that sugar, Grace?”
“That’s what the triple shot is for.”
He hums, that cocky little smile still playing at his lips. God, I want to smack him.
Ange quickly punches in the order, then with a finger hovering over the keyboard, she peers up at me, brows knitted. “Did you still want the fiesta burrito?”
“Yes, he’ll be paying for that too. And ah”—I make a show of giving him a once over—“adonutfor the boy scout.”
Decker barks out a laugh. It’s easy. Casual. Like we’re friends. Like last night didn’t happen. Like I didn’t try to blackmail him and he’s not currently in possession of a big brick of cocaine and a whole lot of dirty money. Two things I’m going to be needing back.
“I’ll take the pink one with all the sprinkles.” He throws me a wink.
