Page 15 of Tricking an Introvert

Cole

She honestly wanted to show off her sink, her bare brick wall on the west front and the Japanese bathtub. Cole didn’t know whether he should laugh or groan. Every time he thought he saw a glimmer of interest, she ended up making overtures of friendship.

He was firmly, undeniably friend-zoned.

Which was fine. She was fun, easy to talk to, adorable even. He honestly wanted to count her among his friends. Almost as much as he wanted to spread her legs open and feast on her pussy until she forgot her own name.

The apartment was vivid and full of light. White billowing curtains were drawn back at the corners of floor-to-ceiling windows, letting in tons of light. While clean, the space felt lived in. The cushions on her bright blue sofa were all over the place, and there was a book on a beige chinchilla rug next to it, suggesting she might have left in a hurry. Michael’s latest release. She hadn’t lied to get a client; she truly was a fan.

“Coffee, tea?”

“Either. Black, no milk, one sugar.”

She grimaced, her pert nose wrinkling. Cole had a sudden urge to touch it with his fingertip.

He didn’t.

“Why would you do that to yourself?”

Presumably, she was talking about drinking caffeine. “To stay awake?”

“Drinking black coffee is like drinking motor oil.”

“Do you have much experience ingesting motor oil?” His amusement was showing.

“Come on, no one likes coffee. They tolerate it for the effect, and that’s about it.”

“You should say that to Italians, or French people for that matter. I honestly don’t think I’ve ever drunk a coffee more delicious than the one I got in Milan last year.”

“Well, maybe, but here it sucks.”

Fair point.

“I avoid cream where I can,” he said honestly, surprising himself.

Cole didn’t talk about that sort of decision; it was no one’s business.

“Intolerant?” she guessed.

He shrugged. Normally, he would have left it at that, however strange it would have felt. He could practically read the curiosity on her face, although she didn’t push, somehow sensing she’d hit a sensitive topic.

Dammit.

“Hang on. You make the coffee, I explain why I stick to black.” Cole pulled his phone and started browsing through his archives.

Her features lit up in delight. “I’m just glad there’s an explanation. If you’d persisted in saying black coffee is just better, I’m not sure we could be friends.”

Friends. That word again.

She had a fancy machine with an attachment to froth the milk. Tessa prepared a latte for herself, adding a healthy pump of salted caramel syrup, and made him an Americano, not bothering to mask her disgust.

“At least you take sugar.”

“I’m careful, not a masochist.”

Tessa handed him his drink, and he handed her his phone.

She frowned, not quite understanding what she was looking at. “It’s a school picture? From middle school?”

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