Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice. Or was he pretending not to?
“Hey, man.” Effortlessly, Beat high-fived Boulder Calves and grabbed her wrist. “She’s with me. Can I bring her in while I finish up?”
“Sure.” The guy took a respectful step backward, out of her orbit. “No worries, Beat.”
“Thanks.”
Beat winked at Melody, guiding her through reception and into a small café that looked more like a nightclub. It was dark, except for the pulsing red Christmas lights surrounding the order window. “Hi,” Beat said to the girl behind the counter, giving her a warm grin—and the phone slipped right out of her hands, followed by a stuttered apology. Beat only smiled wider. “Did I dream this or do you guys make coffee? It’s not all smoothies and bee pollen and protein bars back there, is it?”
“We have coffee,” she said throatily. “No one ever orders it, but we make it anyway.”
“Oh. You’re amazing.” His whole body flexed with the power of his relieved exhale, the smile crinkles around his eyes deepening. “What’s your name?”
“Jessica,” she breathed.
“Jessica.” He nodded. “Could I please get a large one for my girl, Melody?”
“S-sure.” Jessica attempted to hit the right buttons on the register, but she kept having to start over, the color deepening on her cheeks with every failed attempt. “How do you want it?” She winced. “The coffee, I mean.”
“Milk only,” Melody said, giving the girl a look of pure understanding. “No bee pollen, please. Nothing healthy whatsoever, in fact.”
Beat laughed, bringing Melody’s hand to his mouth and brushing a kiss over the back of it, just a casual kicking of the hornet’s nest that was her libido—where Beat was concerned, at least. He had two women completely flustered simply by existing. By being friendly and complimentary and hunky—and most importantly, genuine.
Someone should film this. Danielle was a genius.
Jessica slid the paper cup of coffee across the counter. “Do you have an account?”
“Yes.” His eyes actually twinkled. “Dawkins.”
“I already knew that. I don’t know why I asked.”
Beat picked up the coffee with a laugh and handed it to Mel, throwing his arm around her shoulders. “Thank you for saving the day, Jessica.”
“Any time.”
They left the café area, traveled down a hallway toward the source of the music and entered a gymnasium full of equipment. There were a few nods to Christmas—boughs and holly strategically nestled into corners, but for the most part, this place was all business. And in her kelly green coat and boots, Mel was not dressed appropriately. “How is it?” Beat asked.
“Intimidating. A little smelly.”
“I meant the coffee, Peach.”
“Oh.” She peeled back the tab and took a sip, swallowed. “It’s good! Made with lust.”
He tilted his head. “Huh?”
She studied him closely. “You just put poor Jessica through a second round of puberty. You don’t realize that?”
“What? No.” He shot a skeptical look in the direction they came. “I was just being nice. I’m like that with everyone.”
“I know. You were that way with me when I was sixteen.”
Frown lines appeared on his forehead. “No. That was different. Not every encounter stays with me for years to come. Like ours.” He seemed to realize he’d revealed too much and self-consciously swiped a hand through his damp hair, opening his mouth and closing it again.
“Well,” Melody said, unable to feel the coffee cup in her hands. It could have been burning the skin from her palm and it wouldn’t have registered. “RIP Jessica.”
Beat chuckled, took her wrist again, and led her toward the back of the gigantic workout space. “Come on. I’m forcing myself to do twenty box jumps before I quit for the day.”
“Sounds hellish.”
“That’s because it is.”
“Why do you do it?”
His thumb brushed over the tiny veins in her wrist. “A little torture can be fun.”
Melody wished she could see his face when he said those words, because his tone of voice was kind of . . . funny? Or was she imagining it? “Can’t you just doomscroll like everyone else?” His laugh made her pulse skip. “The only torture I occasionally endure are jeans.”
“Until today.” Beat clapped and rubbed his hands together vigorously. “You’re going to box jump with me, right?”
“Oh my God, I’ve been bamboozled. It’s you. You’re Lance.”
“Only kidding.” He turned in a circle, searching the immediate area. Melody didn’t realize what he was looking for until he was pulling a leather bench in their direction. “Place for you to sit. I won’t take long.” He hung his head a second. “I just realized how weird it is that I’ve dragged you in here to watch me box jump. I swear it wasn’t my intention to make you my audience, I just thought it would be a good chance to plot our strategy for the confessional.”
She took a seat on the bench and crossed her legs, her skin flaming when he openly watched the move, the fingers of his right hand flexing at his side. “Strategy. Yes.”
Now she sounded like Jessica.
“Obviously, we don’t want to embarrass Octavia and Trina,” he said, after a moment. “We can give their fans some intrigue without any big reveals.”
“Cagey, but friendly. Engagingly evasive.”
“That’s exactly it.” His expression was one of mock surprise. “Have you done this before?”
“Only about a million times.”
“Sounds like torture,” he quipped.
“Maybe I’ll follow your lead and see if I can make torture fun.”
His smile remained in place, but his eyes changed. Darkened. If he wasn’t shirtless, she never would have noticed the way his stomach hollowed, ever so slightly, but he was sans shirt. And she happened to be sitting eye level with that slow contraction of his abdomen, the thick slide of muscle that coincided with his deep inhale. Everything inside of her turned jumpy. It was like someone plugged her into a charged outlet and shot every single one of her nerve endings into a chaotic dance. The whole scene must have been showing on her face, if her hot cheeks were any indication. Distract him. Distract yourself.
“Maybe I will try box jumping?”
That blurted pronouncement sent his dark eyebrows sky-high. “Really?”
Melody shot up from the bench, set down her coffee, and started to unfasten the buttons of her coat. “Is there a miniature one?”
“No.”
“Oh.”
“But you can do it,” he said encouragingly. “I’ll spot you.”
“Spot me? I’m right here.”
God, he had such a dreamy smile. “I mean, I’ll help you if something happens, Peach.”
“Something probably will,” she warned.
“Nope,” he said, shaking his head adamantly. “You’ve got this. You’re going to nail it, Mel, just not in those boots.”