Page 215 of Don’t Say Mafia

He laughed softly, and the sound curled through me like some kind of drug. And, worse, some part of me was already wanting to hear it again. “Hmm,” he murmured. “You would prefer it.”

“Yes,” I said, reaching for a stack of napkins just so my hands had something to occupy them.

“Relax,” he added easily. “If I were stalking you, you wouldn’t have noticed.”

That did absolutely nothing to make me feel better, and it forced me to look back at him because now I was even more suspicious about why he was here.

“What do you want?” I asked, and there was a faint edge in my voice this time. A little bite. Which was infinitely better than the breathy nonsense I’d been giving him before.

“That’s easy,” he said without hesitation. “I want you to go out with me.” He said the words with enough confidence that I almost laughed.

Mara made a small choking sound behind me, like she’d inhaled her own spit.

“I meant your coffee order,” I said dryly. “And as I believe I mentioned last night . . . I’m married.”

Just like then, that fact didn’t seem to faze him at all. Instead, he started glancing around the shop, as if he was genuinely looking for something. “Where is he?” he asked, sounding confused.

A lie rose automatically to my tongue. That he was working or some other made-up version of my life, but I couldn’t seem to force the words past my lips.

Ryan was probably still asleep, just like he’d been when I’d left. The smell of last night’s steak lingering in the air a reminder that I’d have very little to eat for the rest of the week to make up for it.

I closed my mouth, attempted to refocus myself, and lifted my chin. “Your order. Please.”

Something approving flashed across his face, like he enjoyed my defiance. “Fine. What’s your favorite?”

I hesitated, then sighed. “You don’t want to order my favorite drink. It’s ridiculous.”

“Perfect.”

I rolled my eyes because this conversation and situation in general were also completely ridiculous. “Iced white chocolate mocha with almond milk, no whip, extra foam.”

“Sounds delicious. I’ll have that.” He gave me that genuine smile again, and Mara dropped a stack of cups with a loud clatter.

I, unfortunately, reacted by gripping his cup a little too hard. The paper cracked in my hand, and I reluctantly reached for another one, acutely aware of his knowing gaze on me. I cleared my throat, shaking my head a little as if I were in fact under a spell. “Why, exactly, are you ordering the drink I like?”

“Because you look like a woman with good taste,” he said easily.

Mara all but moaned at that statement, and I was a little worried she was about to spontaneously combust. “I can assure you I don’t,” I murmured distractedly, glancing at her over my shoulder.

“Oh?” he asked.

When I faced him again, he’d leaned in closer. “Bad track record?”

I stiffened, realizing what I’d just implied.

“Let me guess,” he continued smoothly. “You picked the wrong wine once. Maybe the wrong shoes.”

His gaze dipped to the cheap ring on my left hand, lingering just long enough to make my stomach twist, before lifting back to my face. “Or the wrong husband.”

“I’ll get you that coffee,” I said, my voice betraying me with the slightest shake as I turned toward the coffee bar behind me.

I took my time making his drink while Mara tried to flirt her way into his bedroom, and from the brief, politely uninterested way he answered her, it was obvious he wasn’t encouraging it.

A small, ridiculous spark of satisfaction flared in my chest. And then shame followed immediately behind it.

I slid the finished cup across the counter without looking at him, focusing instead on the cup, the lid, the way the ice shifted inside. If I kept my eyes on the coffee, maybe my body would stop reacting like he was standing too close.

“Here you go,” I said, aiming for blandly polite.