Page 12 of Heat & Deceit
Tabitha’s head whips up and she whirls around. “You,” she seethes; amber eyes, that are actually rather beautiful, filling with enough rage to make me wonder if she’s going to try to stab me with the permanent marker she’s clutching.
“Me. I’m here.” I don’t give her a chance to say more and dash for the counter. “Hi, what can I get you?” I paste on my customer-service grin and shove all the false cheer I can into my voice.
Her gaze drills into me for a moment, but with as many people as there are, she can’t stop working for long. Soon, the three of us fall into a rhythm. I take orders and pretend to enjoy the small talk. Randal frantically makes the drinks, and Tabitha fills in wherever she’s needed. A few times, she passes behind me and digs her elbow into my back.
I bite my cheek to keep from saying anything and pretend not to notice. She wants to provoke a reaction. I’m not playing her games. Communication, I’ve learned, is not something all adults have mastered. Sometimes, no matter how hard one tries to behave like a grownup who is in control of their emotions, a twat pops up who can’t handle their anger. And when said twat sets their foot into the back of one’s knee, one has to grind their teeth to keep from laying the twat out like one’s older brother taught them to do.
The line of customers grows shorter and shorter, and with every order I ring up, the knot in my stomach gets a little tighter. Once they’re all gone, Tabitha will want to talk, though shouting might be a better description of what I imagine is coming.
“Your order will be ready at the end of the counter in just a few minutes,” I tell the lovely couple with a grin. The woman leans against the guy she’s with, and they take their time walking to the pickup area. They’re so in love it makes me sick. Don’t they know that won’t last? Doesn’t she realize, one day, he might wake up and sell her to some asshole who’ll ruin her life? I scowl as a flood of all the horrible things my old pack had done to me resurfaces.
To think, I once believed in love.
Deciding I’ve stared at them longer than is appropriate, I put the customer-service grin back in place. “Good morning, what can I get started—” I finish turning, and my eyes collide with familiar forest green irises with yellow starbursts. “—for you?” My question ends in a squeak.
“Hello again.” His eyes drop to my name tag. “Carmine.”
Carmine? I blink, then quickly remember that’s who I’m pretending to be. Carmine the beta, at your service.
“Hi.” I look him over. Is he even bigger than before? Surely, they don’t make steroids that work that fast, right? “Would you like something to drink?”
There, look at me go. Fully recovered and polite. If it weren’t for my racing pulse, I would think I was totally unfazed by his presence.
Did he follow me?
Did he and that asshole call the cops after I ran off?
Why is he here? Is he smiling? No, he’s smirking. Why is he smirking at me like that? I don’t like smirking. It’s decidedly cocky, and he has nothing to be cocky about. Not the gorgeous eyes or obviously ripped body. Not his lovely, wrinkle-free, light-brown skin. Not his rich, earthen scent, and most certainly not the way his presence demands attention.
He bites his lip and searches my face with those ugly-ass eyes. I fight a scowl. Lips aren’t to be bitten, especially not by alphas like him.
“Coffee?” I prompt, keeping my expression mostly neutral. Maybe if I pretend like we’ve never met, he’ll forget about it. Doubtful, considering the circumstances, but I’ll continue as though it was no big deal. It was only a trash can.
“So, are we going to pretend like that never happened?”
“Javier.” Tabitha appears at my side so suddenly, I flinch.
The alpha narrows his eyes a little, studying me.
I don’t like people in my space, especially when it’s so sudden. When he grabbed me this morning to save me from getting run over, I trembled in his arms, and he noticed. He scowled, much like he is now. He’s remembering.
Shit.
Recovering, I force my lips up. “I was getting ready to take his order,” I tell Tabitha. “Which is?” I askJavier.
Why couldn’t he be a Bob or Peter?
“He likes his latte with three shots and prefers oat milk, but if we’re out, almond will do.” Tabitha cuts her gaze toward me. “What are you waiting for?” She asks the question quietly, without as much bite as what I’m accustomed to.
“Right.” I quickly put it in, his gaze weighing on me. “That’ll be five sixty-nine.”
His lips twitch.
Is he laughing about the number sixty-nine? Seriously? This alpha has some nerve. I force my gaze over his shoulder and wait for him to pay.
Tabitha laughs, and it’s dripping with,oh, you stupid idiot. “He doesn’t pay, Carmine. He owns the place.”
My eyes jump to his, which dance with delight at having caught me off guard. “I’m sorry, what?”
