Page 3 of Peaches

“Excuse me?” comes that voice again, shaken and a little unsure of himself. I release a heavy sigh as my hands fall from my keyboard, my brow furrows because I know I am not ready to meet his stare let alone speak back, but I know I have to force myself to open my eyes and try.

When I do, a defeated gaze meets my own. “It’s okay, I’ll sit somewhere else,” he says, as he glances around the coffee shop. “Except,” his voice lowers and then I hear him whisper in defeat, “there is nowhere else.”

The handsome intruder shuffles his feet once more and then attempts to walk away. I almost breathe out a sigh of relief because - yes, I was busy - and yes, I would gladly like to stare at him instead and maybe make some bad decisions we’d both regret come morning. Wouldn’t you? But I can’t let myself do that. For more reasons than one, I give his back a sad smile before looking at the screen in front of me and beginning to type once again. I’m almost a sentence in when, Mr. Perfect, from, ya know, out of nowhere, turns back around and takes a step closer.

“It’s just,” he whispers once before clearing his throat and switching his coffee to his other hand. “I’ve kinda had a shitty day and I’ve been watching you since I walked in the door.”

My eyes raise once more as I sit up straighter in my seat and forget my work. Can you blame me? He grins again, and his breathtaking smile alone makes my stomach flutter.

“Not in a creepy way, I swear. I just have a thing for reading people,” he shrugs, and like the red-blooded female I am, my eyes instantly fall to his waist as his shirt rises from the raise in his shoulders and I let my eyes memorize for a brief second the perfectly sculpted V that makes every girl go absolutely wild.

“Like, say those two over there.”

He points with his free hand to his right, totally not noticing what I was just salivating over, as he leans in and my eyes trail to the couple sitting across the room.

“He thinks she called him here to start over, but honestly, she can’t wait to work up the nerves to actually end it so she can run through the front doors and into the arms of the guy she’s secretly been cheating with.”

His hand points in the direction of the front window where I see a slightly nervous guy glancing down at his phone before looking up in the girl’s direction. He walks to the front door, almost opens it, shakes his head and then goes back to pacing around in front of the shop. I glance back at the girl in question and see her give the guy aI’m trying to hurry this uplook when she thinks the guy she’s sitting with won’t notice.

“And these three,” he says again, gesturing towards three college girls in the corner.

A seat is empty at their table and they attempt dewy eyes with the stranger at my side briefly before boldly staring in my direction and telling me figuratively toback the hell off.

“I’ve never been into the sorority type,” a statement that I must say surprises me by the looks of him, “and something tells me if their eyes can cling to me that much without speaking a word toanyof them, heaven knows how clingy they’d be before I got my ass in the seat.”

I have to stifle a laugh as I glance back in his direction and smile. His eyes finally return to mine and his defeated guard lowers as he smiles back. His head turns, and I know he is about to tell me his deep psychological diagnosis of someone else across the room, but I beat him to it.

“And what about me?” I finally speak up, and then can't help but grin a little wider when I see it startled him.

His eyes fall back on me and widen. He cocks his gorgeous head to the side and waits before responding, making me grow anxious and worry maybe I don’t want his reply. But then again, he was the one that came over in search of the empty seat at my table. Not the other way around.

“You,” he whispers, as he sets his cup down onmytable, obviously confident that I’ll let him sit once he gives me his answer. I raise my eyebrows in warning and wait to hear what he has to say. “Well, you’re the girl everyone wants to know but is too scared to approach.”

Doubt that, Mr. Handsome, but please go on.

“You’re all business, when you’d rather be enjoying pleasure.” My mind wanders at his choice of the wordpleasureand I have to cross my legs tight and act like it didn’t just phase me the way Casanova in front of me knew it would.

“You live your life in your own lane, not wanting any distractions. But truth be told, a good distraction is all youcrave,otherwise you wouldn’t be trying to work in one of Savanah’s busiest coffee shops.”

I glare at him as I try and fight my grin from getting any wider, taking a moment for myself while he pauses and sexily stares back in my eyes. I bite the inside of my cheek and tell myself to hold it together.

Why the sexy ass!

Who does he think he is?

Oh, that’s right, Mr. Too Good To Be True, at my service.God, if only! Suddenly, I find myself more than done with his analysis, but oddly still feel my brain begging for him to continue. His body lowers into the chair in front of me as he drops a bag that’s been draped over his shoulder to the floor. I cross my arms over my chest and give him aseriouslylook that just makes him smiler wider.

“And how would you know just what Icrave?”

It’s the writer in me. I can’t help but feed him that line. Bait I hope he takes just so I can fantasize about his response later tonight when I know there really won’t be anydistractions.

His smirk deepens, and God, please give me strength, because that smirk is enough to almost send me over the edge. Make me want to push my laptop, this table, and every damn thing standing in our way to the side so I can straddle that V I still can’t get my mind off of as I kiss his smug full lips and taste heaven on his smart tongue.

“Your body gives you away,” he suggests, as his eyes roam and take in the body in question the same pleasurable way I allowed myself to take him in earlier. Something flashes in his green eyes that suddenly makes me squirm a little because this time I’m the one in the spotlight, and I find myself wiggling slightly in suspense in my chair. “Tight. Stressed. Tense,” he suggests, as his eyes lift and lock with mine. “You keep releasing heavy sighs that should only be reserved for sensual acts designed for self-gratifying pleasure.”

Hell, am I the writer here or is this guy?

Sensual acts designed for self-gratifying pleasure?

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