Page 65 of Bad Run

I can’t count the number of times I’ve jerked off to memories of Gwen. She lives rent-free in my spank bank.

I watch as Gwen’s pretty aqua gaze searches the café, looking for me.

When our eyes collide, it’s like getting punched in the gut. My breath hitches, and my heart leaps behind my ribs. A soft smile curls her pink lips up as she walks toward the table.

I don’t care what she has to say; this is happening.

We are happening.

“Hi.” Gwen takes the seat across from me and places her purse on the table.

“Hey,” I greet her, my voice grizzled, and I hope she mistakes the sound as sleepy grit and not for the desire to tug her to me, dip her back, and kiss her.

“Interesting place to meet,” she says.

“I clearly remember this gorgeous blonde with curly hair telling me she likes donuts.”

Gwen laughs. “She has good taste.”

She tastes good too.

Ignoring the way my cock stirs again, I push the plate of donuts across the table and point to the tumbler of coffee I bought her. “I got these for you, but I don’t know your drink order, so I took a gamble. Iced vanilla latte. But I can get you something else.”

“No, this is great. Thank you.” She turns the tumbler from side to side, checking it out.

As soon as I saw it, I knew I wanted her to have it. It’s pink, has a lid and straw for travel, and is decorated with mini silver donuts.

“I feel like I should know how you like your coffee.” I reach for my cup and take a sip.

Gwen chuckles. “It’s fine. I change my order every time. I’m a fan of seasonal and specialty drinks. Keeps things interesting.”

Noted. My girl is adventurous. My girl?

Cool your jets, Lance.

Gwen takes a sip of her drink and hums. I know she’s not doing it on purpose, but damn, that sound was hot.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” I ask.

Readying herself, Gwen clasps her hands together and places them on the table. “While I appreciate what you’re trying to do for me, I don’t think getting married is a good idea.”

I sit back and drape my arm over the chair next to me. “Okay. I hear you.”

“Oh, okay. Good. This was easier than I thought it would be.” Her body language betrays her words as she fidgets with her curly hair, twirling a tendril around her finger.

“I said I heard you, not that I agreed.”

She tilts her head to the side in the cute way she always does when she’s trying to dive below my surface, searching for the deeper meaning.

No need to dig, my little witch.

My gaze firmly locked on hers, I casually pick up my drink and take a sip.

“B-but …” she sputters.

“But … nothing. We’re getting married.”

“You could get fired,” she hisses.