Page 20 of Wade’s Wrath

His phone buzzed again.

BUTCHER: And don't shoot anybody before church.

Wade typed back.

WADE: No promises.

He tossed the phone onto the counter. “Who are you planning to shoot?” Wade spun around and found Harlow standing at the entrance to the kitchen. His brain stopped functioning. She was still wearing the oversized Savage Bastards shirt with her bare legs, messy blonde hair, sleepy eyes, and absolutely no fucking clue what she was doing to him.

Wade tightened his grip around his coffee mug. “Morning.”

She leaned against the doorway. “That wasn't an answer.”

“You're nosy before coffee,” he mumbled.

“I'm nosy all the time,” she admitted. Her gaze landed on his mug. “Is there more?”

“Coffee?” he asked.

“No, tequila,” she teased.

Wade grunted. “Smartass.”

“Coffee would be great,” she said.

He grabbed another mug. “Cream?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

“Sugar?” he asked.

“Yes, please,” she said.

“How much?” he asked.

“Enough that it doesn't taste like coffee anymore,” she said.

Wade stared at her. “Get out of my house.” She smiled at him. Fuck. That smile was going to cause him problems. He turned away before she noticed what it did to him, and poured the coffee, added cream, and then reached for the sugar.

“Tell me when,” he said. He added a spoonful, and another, then a third, and she said nothing. “Harlow.”

“A little more,” she insisted.

“You want coffee with your sugar?” he teased.

“Don't judge me,” she hissed.

He dumped another spoonful in. “There.” He handed it over, and she took a sip, immediately wrinkling her nose.

“What?” he asked.

“Needs more cream,” she insisted. Wade stared at her and Harlow smiled sweetly.

He grabbed the cream. “This is fucking sacrilege.”

“You'll survive,” she mumbled.

“Debatable,” he breathed.