Page 5 of Haunted Hearts
It takes a lot for me to lose control these days, and I’m sure as fuck not letting some smug-ass woman who can’t even watch where she’s going get to me. I’ll rub one out when I get home tonight. It’s always easier that way.
“Where’s my phone?” The woman looks indignant, her eyes raking over me like she thinks I stole it or something.
I shrug. I’m still pissed about my coffee-stained t-shirt. I’m going to have to walk into this meeting looking a mess. Great way to start off a project I’m banking on for my career. Just superb.
The blond barista pours a stream of dark, silky coffee into a paper cup, snaps the lid on, and slides it to me across the counter with the flash of a sympathetic smile. As I move to take the cupfrom her, I accidentally kick something and stoop down to pick it up. I can feel Little Miss Smug’s eyes on my back.
I flip the iPhone over in my hands and see the screen’s lit up. I guess the non-apologizer was in the middle of a conversation when all hell broke loose. I know I shouldn’t, but honestly, I barely realize I’m staring at the screen until I find myself reading the text that’s in those little blue bubbles.
Can’t stop thinking about how good you look sucking my cock. Choking on it. My hands tangled up in your hair, pulling til you scream.
I don’t know if my eyes go wide, or if it’s the little chuckle that escapes me that does it, but suddenly Miss Can’t-Apologize lunges at me and snatches her phone out of my hand. I’m still a little shocked by what I just saw, but I can’t bring myself to look at her yet because my dick’s stiffening in my jeans and I justknowI won’t be able to avoid looking at her mouth and… imagining things.
I clear my throat.
Get your shit together, Will. You’re in fucking public, and you’re going to belate.
When I sense that Her Royal Smugness has turned back to the counter to take her second coffee from the barista, I pull it together enough to watch as she shoves her phone into her bag. The creamy skin of her neck is flushed pink. She knows I saw the text.
But the only thing she should be embarrassed about is the coffee. That text? Completely understandable.
This chick may need to learn how to take some responsibility, but I don’t blame whoever sent it for wanting to pull that long, silky hair.
four
LYDIA
Iammortified.
Not only did I just dump a whole cup of hot coffee all over aninsanelygood looking man, but now he’s also seen firsthand that Dylan wants to pull my hair while I suck his cock—and he’s staring at me with an expression I can’t quite read.
Make no mistake: It washisfault for standing too damn close to the counter. But holy shit, do I need to get out of here.
I snatch my second coffee from the barista. Twenty seconds ago, my gut reaction had been rage. First that stupid renovation, then Dad and his bullshit—and nowthis. But after that text, and the big, dark, wet stain on this guy’s t-shirt, I’m so embarrassed my knees are shaking.
Too late, I remember my manners and shoot the guy an apologetic grimace before turning away from the counter. “Sorry about your shirt.”
“No worries,” he says with a snort. And then, as though he just can’t help himself, this asshole goes, “Guess spilled coffee isn’t the only thing getting you hot and bothered today.”
And that does it. Halfway to the cream and sugar, I freeze.
Drawing myself up to full height, I take a deep breath and turn around. If my knees were shaking a minute ago, now they’repulsing with adrenaline again. I don’t make a habit of glossing over misogynistic comments the way it is, but I’m sure ashellnot in the mood for it this morning.
“Oh, yeah?” I hiss, stalking toward him. I stop in front of him, so close I can feel the heat from his chest. “Well, maybe you should read that text again and heed the advice—and suck agiant, fucking dick.”
I know as the words leave my mouth that I’m overreacting, but I also can’t help it. Too many things have gone wrong already this morning, and I don’t have the strength to play nice.
He towers above me, and I force myself to look up at him. I can feel the eyes on us, the soft, uncertain laughs, but I won’t back down. This guy picked the wrong person to mess with today.
“Jesus,” the guy whistles. He runs a hand through his tousled dirty blond hair. There’s a hint of a smile on his face, and it makes me even more livid.
“You think this isfunny?” He clearly does—he doesn’t need to tell me—and he’s trying to hide it, like some kind of amused parent about to crack up at their toddler. “I don’t know who you think you are, but?—”
“Jesus,” the guy says again. He slides a hand under my elbow and grips me tightly, steering me away from the counter. “Relax. Please, just—relax. We’re good, okay?”
My cheeks burn. Not only am I embarrassed that a complete stranger is practically manhandling me in front of everyone in my favorite coffee shop, but I have the sudden realization of just how close this manis. How solid he is, how huge his palm is under my elbow. How good he smells.
Damn. I’m all over the place. I need to get a grip.
