Oakley is hot as sin, though. It’s not just the tattoos; the man is just straight muscle. Well over six feet, but he isn’t super bulky. It’s like he has the practical muscles that blue collar workers have, except he runs a coffee shop. I wonder how he stays in shape.
Does he have a whole setup somewhere that he spends hours in after work? Doing pull-ups, shirtless and all sweaty?
My hand snakes down my soft stomach, under the waistband of my panties. Closing my eyes, I picture walking in on him while he’s working out. Leaning against the doorway, just watching his muscles flex with every new exercise. Hell, he wouldn’t even need to acknowledge me. I think watching him would do it for me.
Kind of like it’s doing it for me now.
I see an imaginary drop of sweat trail down his abs, into his workout shorts, and my fingers circle my clit without my permission. If he wasn’t so damn attractive, this wouldn’t be an issue.
But because he is, I’m already so fucking close to coming, and I’m just picturing him working out. Jeez, desperate much, Willow?
I pull up in my head the image of him at my door earlier this evening , wearing jeans that clung to every muscle. I’m a little sad I haven’t made it a point to remember what his ass looks like, but I imagine it’s got a nice roundness to it.
I circle my clit one more time, and that’s all it takes. A weak and not at all satisfying orgasm pulses through me, and I sag in disappointment.
I need to call this a one-off because I have too much to get done and a distraction is the last thing I need.
Chapter 8
Oakley
Things are going well.
And it’s making me nervous. Willow’s been coming in every day this week and staying when I close up. She says I’m helping her get shit done, but all it feels like is a conversation about my old job. She asks me questions, and I answer them as she types away on her computer a mile a minute. According to her, she’s actually writing the story and has moved on from the outline—whatever that means. She told me something about switching up her style and being a pantser for this book, and I’ll be honest, I just nodded and smiled because I have no clue what she’s talking about.
If it’s helping her productivity, I’ll take it.
Tonight, I wanted to switch things up a little. We’ve been sticking to the shop, with me making us quick dinners as she works, but tonight, I wanted to cook her some real food. Earlier this afternoon, I made lasagna during a lull, and now it’s just sitting in the refrigerator, waiting to go in the oven.
I keep eyeballing the door, waiting for her to come in. It’s already past noon, and I’m getting worried. She usually shows up after the morning rush, but it’s going on lunch and she’s nowhere to be seen.
It’s not like we have a set schedule; it’s just been what’s naturally working out. But my overprotective instincts are struggling with being easygoing right this second. It’s Brittany’s day off today, so at least I have the distraction of staying busy.
“You stare any harder, and you’ll start drooling.” The sheriff’s voice startles me.
I open my mouth to say I’m watching for customers, but he just snuck up on me, so I close it just as quickly.
“What can I get you today, Sheriff?”
“You heard from your buddy again?” he asks instead of ordering.
Gritting my teeth, I try to calmly answer him, even if it pisses me off that he’s even asking. Woodcroft should have never fucking shown up here. Now, I’ll forever be answering questions like this from the sheriff. Not that I blame him—if I was the sheriff, I’d be asking questions too.
“Nope. You want your usual?” I move to the espresso-maker to make his americano.
“Willow’s sure been here a lot.”
I don’t bother looking up at him because I know it would just give him whatever answer he’s looking for. He seems to assume things are happening, but it’s not really his business.
“How’s Rina doing?” I counter. If he wants to play petty games, I’ve got plenty of ammo. I set his coffee in front of him as he grunts in response. I don’t even trying to hide my smirk.
“See you later, Oakley,” he mumbles as he walks out the front door, stopping to hold the door for someone walking in. I see Willow and meet Arlo’s eyes over her head. The look he’s giving me is indecipherable, so I turn my focus to the beauty that just came in.
“Morning!” shesays cheerily.
“Afternoon, actually.” I can hear the grumpiness in my tone, so I try to calm it down. “Have a good morning?”
“So fucking good! I wrote three full chapters today!”
