Suddenly, I’m really wanting a coffee. I look at my coffee cup from earlier, the hot pink lid taunting me. It’s barely noon. I don’t need another coffee, but Pippa hadn’t been at her shop this morning. And I hate to admit it, but I need an excuse to stop by to see her. I’ve been thinking about her leaving the gallery. She told me I had to work for it—and it’s the only thing I can think about.
I want to work for it, a realization I don’t care to dwell on.
It wouldn’t hurt to stop by the coffee shop again. We are next-door neighbors, and she makes the best coffee in this town. It makes total sense for me to drop in. It’s better than texting her, something I’ve thought about doing numerous times as I look at the one text we’ve shared in our thread. The photo of her in the lingerie. The photo that sent me spiraling from the moment I saw her. Even though I didn’t want to admit it then, I knew I wouldn’t be able to get her from my mind after that. And after tasting her, I know I’ll do anything to experience more with her. I wasn’t lying when I said I’d work for her. I look forward to biding my time and winning her over.
I sigh, scrubbing my hand along the stubble on my chin. It’s out of character for me to chase a woman, but I can’t help it with her. She gets on every one of my nerves, but I can’t stop.
It’s the very reason I find myself stepping through the hot pink door of her cafe. My eyes immediately travel around the space, looking for her in the group of people. It’s busy, some eyes catching mine as I search for her familiar gaze. I don’t find her at the tables, and when I look at the counter, she isn’t there either.
“Here for another?” the girl behind the register asks. She’d been the one to help me this morning right when the cafe opened.
I clear my throat, stepping up to the counter. “I was working late last night.”
“Same thing from this morning?”
Movement catches my attention from the corner of my eye. Looking over, I hope to find Pippa walking out of the swinging doors to the kitchen but instead find another face that isn’t her.
“Sir?” the barista pushes.
I focus back on her. “Yeah. That’d be perfect.” I scratch my chin, trying to think of a nonobvious way to ask where the hell Pippa is. “So.” I clear my throat, making things more awkward and obvious. “Where is the owner? Pippa?”
The girl smiles—Lexi from her name tag. She grasps the counter, leaning over it slightly. “Why are you asking?”
“I’m just used to seeing her every day.”
She nods her head, her eyes narrowing on me. “Right. No other reason at all you want to know?”
“Nope.” I cough, looking around to try and avoid her knowing stare. It’s hot against my skin, even as I pretend to look at a prepacked bag of coffee beans to avoid it as long as possible.
“She’s always complaining about you,” she states, humor in her voice.
My eyes snap to her. “Why do you say that like it’s a compliment?”
“Because I think she likes you.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, fighting the urge to say the first thing that popped into my head—she definitely seemed to like me when her fingernails were scraping my scalp, her moans echoing off the walls of this very shop as she screamed my name. I want to look back at the door, to close my eyes and remember having her pinned against the windows. What it felt like to spread her thighs open and have her completely bared to me.
“You good?” Lexi asks. Her eyes are lit with mischief as she beams at me. She’s clearly having too much fun pestering me about Pippa.
“Yeah.” I clear my throat again, looking over my shoulder to see if there’s anyone behind me in line. There isn’t, giving me time to aim more questions in her employee’s direction.
“Her complaining about me makes you think she likes me?” I feel like I’m in middle school again. I want to ask does she like me or like like me like a goddamn twelve-year-old. “That doesn’t make very much sense.”
“It does if you know Pippa. She gets bored easily, needing…” She pauses, her eyes traveling to the ceiling as she thinks for a moment. “Well, she needs fire, you could say. Something that keeps things interesting.”
“Complaining about me keeps things interesting?”
“Yesterday, I opened the cafe for Pippa. She’d texted me saying she’d been out late and needed help.”
My eyebrows draw in because this conversation has taken a turn I wasn’t expecting. “Okay?”