Page 13 of Falling for the Bad Boy
She gazed up at me through half-closed lids, a smug smile dancing across her lips. “My coffee. I take it black. Same way you like your sheep, right?”
CHAPTER 6
Trinity
I hadn’t expected him to say yes. As I navigated Macy’s giant SUV through the narrow downtown streets, I glanced over at Oliver. His fingers tapped along to the beat of the pop radio station.
“How long have you been in the States?”
“A couple of years. I finished university back home then wanted to come here for my MBA.”
The early morning sun came through the passenger side window, highlighting the scruff on his cheeks. I loved a man who was a little rough around the edges. So far Oliver seemed to hit all of my buttons. Might be nice to enjoy the company of the buff bartender while he was still around. The fact that he was on a visa meant that he’d be leaving soon, so there was no chance of getting attached.
“How about you?” he asked.
How about me? Good question. I usually deflected any attempt to share my story. But Oliver didn’t know my family. He had no idea I was the single disappointment in a long line of successful siblings. He was probably one of the only people in Newbridge who was blissfully ignorant of my family name.
“I didn’t actually finish my degree.” I looked over to gauge his reaction. He didn’t flinch. Bonus points for the Kiwi. “I started but got bored.”
He nodded. “College isn’t for everyone. I’m the first one in my family to go.”
“Really?” I took a longer look. What might that feel like? To be the first at something and not always be following in someone else’s larger, more successful footsteps? “Your mom? Dad? Siblings? No one else has been to college?”
His fingers stopped tapping, and he bristled. “No. Is that so hard to believe?”
I put my hand on his. Now I’d gone and offended him. That hadn’t been my intent. “I’m sorry. It’s just that my entire family has advanced degrees. I’m kind of the black sheep of my siblings.”
“So we have something in common.” His lips curved up into a smile, and he pulled his hand out from under mine, leaving my palm to rest against his leg. His muscles tensed under my touch.
I let my palm linger for a moment, enjoying the way his denim-clad thigh felt under my hand. Maybe a fling with the bartender from Down Under would be just the way to celebrate being back in town. “Have you been to the Roastery yet?”
“No. I don’t get out much. Between classes and work, I’m pretty tied up.” He set his arm on the window ledge and peered out. We were driving along the river, not far from Macy’s place.
“It’s one of my favorite spots. Good coffee too.”
“Sounds good to me.”
We drove a few minutes in silence, with only the sound of the radio between us. By the time I found a spot on the street and managed to parallel park the giant vehicle, I was ready for a super-sized shot of caffeine.
The place was busy for a weekday morning. Or maybe business had picked up in the years I’d been away. It had always felt like one of my secret places, off the beaten track. But now, a long line threaded through the small interior. I stepped behind a man in a dark suit. Reminded me of my oldest brother and for a moment my heart stuttered to a stop. Then he turned, and I caught a glimpse of a full-on beard. No way Randall would sport facial hair. I wasn’t looking forward to the family dinner on Saturday. No need to rush into a spontaneous interaction with one of my siblings unless it was absolutely necessary.
By the time we reached the front of the line, I was desperate for caffeine. We placed our orders, then found a table on the small patio overlooking the river. A giant umbrella held the strong morning sun at bay. No doubt it would be humid later, but for now I enjoyed the chance to breathe in some fresh air and appreciate the great outdoors.
“What’s the weather like in New Zealand this time of year?” I asked.
He eased into the chair next to me. “Opposite of here. You’re heading into summer and we’re heading into winter back home.”
“That’s right. Does it get cold where you’re from?”
“It can. We typically hover around four or five degrees.”
“That’s awful.”
“Celsius, not Fahrenheit.” He ran a finger along the wooden tabletop. “You forget, we’re metric. Not like you backward Americans.”
“Hey, now.” I grinned. Bantering back and forth with Oliver was becoming one of my favorite pastimes. “Have you always wanted to be a bartender?”
“Absolutely. Mixing up fruity cocktails and pulling pints for a never-ending line of customers at the bar…who wouldn’t want that kind of lifestyle.” He picked up his cup. My gaze followed the rim as he tipped it toward his lips.
