Page 24 of Heat & Deceit
The lady huffs. “What a rip-off.”
Javier and I share a look. Our coffee is cheaper than Moondollars and a hell of a lot better. He takes her payment, and I return to the orders that are waiting for me. Things start to move a little better, but when I run out of milk up front, I know the small delay will amp up the stress.
The line isn’t quite to the door, but it’s long and Javier is slow on the register, which at this point is probably a good thing because I’m three drinks behind.
“I have to grab some milk from the back,” I tell him before setting off to do just that. I grab two jugs from the back room and, right as I’m pushing through the door, Javier shoves through.
His frazzled eyes clash into mine as I start to tip over. I clutch the milk like it’ll save me and let gravity do its thing. Before I can fall on my ass, Javier grabs me, one strong arm on my left bicep and the other one wrapping around my waist to help me plant my feet.
“Fuck.” The hand on my waist runs up my spine and moves to my arm. “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” It’s callused. More than I expected, given how out of his element he is at the cash register. Javier strikes me as an alpha who never gets his hands dirty, but those rough palms tell another story. His skin is hot against mine as he checks me for injuries, which is ridiculous, because I didn’t actually fall. He’s so gentle about it too.
When was the last time someone touched me so tenderly? When was the last time someone was so beside themselves at the idea of hurting me?
My brother was the only one who ever cared. When it comes to other alphas, none have ever touched me this way—with care.
“Carmine?” He rubs my arms like he’s trying to warm me up. His pupils dilate, and he inhales slightly, searching for a scent he won’t find.
It’s silly to want him to smell me, but I find myself wishing I hadn’t slathered on the scent blockers. Those are dangerous thoughts. I’d be jeopardizing my fake identity, and I can’t afford to do that. I can’t do anything that might leadthemto me.
“Please stop touching me,” I whisper.
“Shit.” His hands fall away, and I instantly miss them. He takes two steps to the side. “Sorry.” He frowns. “I keep saying that to you.”
“It’s okay. I’m okay.” I meet his gaze, ignoring the longing stirring within me. “We should get back to work.”
He gives me a firm nod. “I’m out of receipt paper.”
It takes forty minutes to get through the line and the last of the drinks. Javier and I find a rhythm by the end of the rush, mostly thanks to me figuring out how to help him on the register and make drinks at the same time.
“It’s on the third page, halfway down. I think the button is blue.” I turn on the steam wand and glance over at Javier.
“Got it.” He turns back to the customer, who appears to be the last one for now, and finishes the order.
I make quick work of the chai and hand it off with my best customer-service smile. The lady waiting takes it and drops a few dollars on the counter.
“Oh, you don’t have to—”
“Please, take it. You look exhausted.”
My mouth snaps shut, and I quickly look in the reflective silver of the coffee machine. Sure enough, my bangs are plastered to the side of my face. My skin is a touch damp, but I’m not dripping with sweat, which is good. The scent-blocking lotion won’t last through heavy sweating.
“Is it me, or was that a backhanded compliment?” Javier drops his arms to rest on the pick-up counter and tips his chin to look at me. He starts to say something but decides not to.
I search his face for a moment before grabbing a towel and dabbing it along my hairline, taking care not to rub it against my skin and mess up the lotion.
“Do you want a drink?”
Turning, I lift my eyebrows. “I thought you didn’t know how to make drinks.”
“Mmm, no. I said I haven’t made them for a long time, but I definitely know how to make a killer dark chocolate mocha.” He considers me. “You don’t like white chocolate, do you?”
Hell no, that stuff is gross.
“No,” I say, responding how Carmine would.
“Good.” He turns toward the machine and rubs his hands together. “Come to daddy.”
My eyes bug a little, and I turn around, biting my cheek to keep from laughing. God, Randal would die if he were here. I discreetly pull out my phone and text him.
