“So if you knew he’s a mess, why would you take any more bets for him?” I ask. He has to know I can see right through him and his bullshit.
Doesn’t he?
“Because a bet’s a bet and…who wouldn’t want a free house, Vi?”
What. A. Dick.
“Yeah, but it wasn’t free.” I try to keep my emotions in check, but this whole fake-ass, puppy dog, it’s not my fault, persona he’s got going on is really starting to piss me off. “It wasn’t even his,” I clarify. “It was mine.”
“I get it, Vi. I really do.” He reaches for my hand on the counter, but I jerk away from his touch. “Here’s the thing,” he tsks. “I’m trying to run a business here, and rules are rules.”
“Rules are rules,” I repeat.
“Yeah.” He sighs. “It’s either take the house or break his kneecaps.”
Break his kneecaps? Who does this guy think he is?
With a sardonic laugh, I reply, “I’m sorry, did you just say break his kneecaps?” I laugh even harder. “Why? Because you’re suddenly a mob boss now?”
“You’re right.” He joins in my amusement, but I don’t miss the condescension. “I’m no mob boss. I’m just…Ethan Morgan. Your best friend’s older brother, and an entrepreneur."
Entreperneur. Right.
“But ya know,” he continues. “A guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do. Besides, I think with a little work, my new place willbe top fucking tier, you know?” He drags his fingertips along the counter, catching some granulated sugar and rubbing it between his fingers. “And I get to stay right by Lex and make sure she isn’t doing anything I wouldn’t approve of.”
“Of course not.” I can’t help my scoff. “Why are you here, Ethan?”
“I wanted to extend an invitation, is all,” he continues. “Rumor has it, this house means a lot to you, and it’s not your fault your dad fucked you over, right?”
My brows pinch. Where is he going with this?
“So that’s why you’re here, huh? To give your condolences over something you have complete control over?”
“My condolences and an invitation,” he clarifies. Resting his elbows on the counter separating us, he gives me his same skeevy smile. “If you ever want to stop by. Maybe sleep over or something. I’ll make sure the bed’s nice and warm just for you.”
What. An. Ass.
Whatever modicum of hope that even considered sparking during our conversation is snuffed out in an instant, reminding me of exactly who I’m dealing with. “I think you should go.”
“What about my coffee?”
Screw your coffee!I want to scream, though I know it won’t get me anywhere. The sooner I ring up his order, the sooner he’ll have no excuse but to leave. Jabbing his order into the register, I grit out, “That’ll be three dollars and sixty-one cents.”
“Damn.” His card stays pinched between his fingers as he shows it to me but keeps it just out of reach while his gaze drags down my body all over again. “I think I want something sweet, too. What’s the sweetest thing you have on the menu, Vi?”
With a glare, I cross my arms, not bothering to answer him because if I do, I won’t be able to hold back my verbal assault and will totally wind up fired if Ethan decides to tattle and my boss checks the tape.
“Let’s see.” He places his palms on the counter separating us again and shifts forward, stealing my space until all I can do is clench my fists or punch the bastard. And boy, do I want to smack that smug expression right off his face, but something holds me back. Maybe it’s the cameras I know are in the corners of the small shop. Maybe it’s the look in his eyes, daring me to push him. Honestly, I’m not sure. All I know is there’s a heaviness in the air. A charge. Like when you’re standing in the middle of a field during a thunderstorm. And with the tiniest amount of friction, it could catch.
Sweat gathering along my hairline, I stand my ground. “The only thing on the menu is black coffee, Morgan.”
“Nah, that can’t be true.” The bell on the door dings, though I’m too furious to welcome the newest customer with a kind smile. Instead, I hold Ethan’s stare with a glare of my own. “I think I’ll take a hot little piece of…” Like a ragdoll, Ethan’s body is wrenched away from the counter before Jagger’s fist connects with Ethan’s jaw. Shock ripples through me, and I cover my mouth while Jagger hits him again. And again. Ethan stumbles back, blindsided. Then again, so am I. How the hell did he get here? How did he know Ethan was here? Blood dribbles down Ethan’s nose as recognition flashes across his face. Charging forward, he rams Jagger like a football player, wrapping his arms around his torso in hopes of bringing Jagger to the ground. If it wasn’t for the counter behind him, it might have even worked. Instead, Jagger stays pinned against it.
Rushing around the edge of the counter, I stand there. Helpless. My heartbeat pounding in my ears. With my hand covering my mouth. What do I do? What do I do? WhatcanI do? I’m not a fighter, and I’m definitely not big enough or strong enough to rip these two apart, not unless I have a death wish, which I don’t, but still. Do I call the police? Do I–
Ethan punches Jagger’s ribs before Jagger counters the move and throws another hook at Ethan’s face. It’s a brutal blow, but Jagger doesn’t let up as Ethan stumbles back. He darts forward with his hands raised, delivering a jab-cross combo I recognize from when we practiced at his in-home gym not so long ago. When his fist hits its target, Ethan’s blood sprays onto the glass separating the espresso machine, syrup flavors, and paper cups from the seating area, making my knees threaten to buckle.
Holy shit.
