Page 71 of Cold as Stone
“Mercy—”
“Girl, the sexual tension between you two is so thick I could cut it with a knife. Half our customers have been placing side bets on whether you’ll make it to midnight without jumping each other.”
I stare at her. “There are side bets?”
“Honey, there are side bets on the side bets. Mrs. Henderson from the diner put fifty dollars on you caving before the dinner rush.”
“Mrs.Hendersonbet on my sex life?”
“She also brought homemade cookies and said to tell you that young love is beautiful and you should grab happiness with both hands.” Mercy grins. “Direct quote.”
I bury my face in my hands. “This town is insane.”
“This town loves a good love story. And you and Lee? That’s the kind of epic romance people write songs about.”
Before I can respond, the front door opens and Lee walks in. He’s wearing his cut over a simple white T-shirt and dark jeans, but the way he moves—all controlled power and lethal grace—makes my mouth go dry.
His eyes find mine immediately, and the heat in them is enough to melt steel.
“Ladies,” he says, his voice rough in a way that sends shivers down my spine.
“Lee,” Mercy replies cheerfully. “Just checking on our girl after her big victory.”
“Victory?” He raises an eyebrow, though his gaze never leaves my face.
“Passed the health inspection with flying colors,” I manage to say. “We’re officially in the clear.”
“I never had a doubt.”
We grin at each other, and I want to reach out and touch him, but I know if I do, that bet is as sure as hell not going to be won.
“Well,” Mercy says, clearly enjoying the show, “I think I’ll go check inventory in the back. Take my time with it. Maybe count everything twice. Be super thorough. Might take me a while.”
She disappears before either of us can respond, leaving Lee and me alone in the main bar area.
“Subtle,” Lee says, rolling his eyes. “How are you feeling?”
“Good. Relieved. Ready for this whole Summit thing to be over.”
“I wasn’t talking about Summit.”
Oh.
“Nervous,” I admit. “Excited. Like I might die if you don’t touch me soon.”
His pupils dilate, and I watch his hands clench into fists at his sides. “Kya?—”
“I know. Seven more hours.” I check the clock, 5:15. “Six hours and forty-five minutes, actually.”
“You’re counting.”
“Down to the second.” I move around the bar, ostensibly to clean glasses, but really because I need something to do with my hands. “Are you counting?”
“Every fucking minute.” His voice is strained. “Do you have any idea what these past two weeks have been like for me?”
I look up at him, noting the tight line of his jaw, the way his T-shirt stretches across his chest with each controlled breath. “Probably about the same as they’ve been for me.”
“I doubt that.” He leans against the bar, close enough that I can smell his cologne. “I’ve been taking cold showers three times a day and still going to bed rock hard.”
