Or, at least, I won’t let it.
She tugs on the leash attached to her menace of an animal. “I’m about to take Boomer out for a walk.” When she looks up at me, the breath stalls in my lungs because of the sadness I see there. I’ve never seen her look sad before. “How about you come with me, and we talk about it?”
I find myself nodding and then following behind her to the elevator. I hate myself a little more for it, but my eyes fall right to her ass and my hands twitch to reach out and give it a squeeze. I won’t because I’m not going to touch her and then berate her. That would be a step too far, even for me.
Though her ass does look fucking delectable in her jeans. I clear my throat and stand next to her as we wait for the elevator, Boomer’s tail wagging as he sits between us. I swear he’s eyeing me with speculation, but I don’t think I could prove it in a court of law.
“How was your day?”
The question slips from me, and I could kick my own ass when Reese looks up at me with surprise because I’m not being hostile with her. Fuck. I swear I hear my mama whisper in my ear about honey catching more flies than vinegar.
I don’t want the flies or the vinegar, but there is a big part of me who desperately wants Reese’s honey.
It’s the part of me I’ve been trying to ignore since the moment I met her. Then the problems began, and it was easy to. Because she showed herself to be self-centered and selfish. I don’t do either of those things.
There’s something in her eyes though, something which won’t let me write her off completely and keeps whispering to me I’ve gotten it all wrong. I don’t know about all wrong, but maybe partially? I don’t know.
Maybe it’s time I find out?
Fuck me.
“Um,” I hate the way her voice wavers, “it was fine.” The smile she puts on her face is forced as well. I hate it. “I don’t really like getting up so early, but I do love my customers.” I know the part about her customers is true, I can see the way her eyes sparkle when she says it. “Nothing too exciting happened today.”
I scrunch my eyebrows together as the elevator door opens and we step inside. “Do exciting things happen at a coffee shop?”
She huffs, “We’re a café, not just a coffee shop.” The smile on her face is genuine this time, as if she enjoys giving me shit, but there’s nothing malicious there. I find myself smiling at her and she blinks at me. She mutters under her breath, “Woah.”
I hold my hands up in surrender. “I’ll try and get it right in the future.”
“See that you do,” there’s a comical haughty tone to her voice. It makes me want to wrap her in my arms and kiss her until she moans my name.
Which can’t happen.
I don’t think.
“But, yeah, exciting things can happen there,” she keeps talking as if she didn’t just throw my world off axis. Again.
“Are you going to elaborate, Sunshine?” My voice comes out husky, even to my own ears, and she looks up at me owlishly, her blinks long and disbelieving.
I’m saved by the doors to the elevator opening. We walk out side by side and I’m struck with how fucking domestic the scene is. Boomer is happy as a clam between us, not a single bark or a yip or growl to be heard. He even looks like he’ smiling a little when I look down at him.
Fucking weird.
“Well,” she gives me the side eye and a sly tilt of her lips which has me almost panting as bad as Boomer, “there was the time that a rock star stood in front like he was John Cusack inSay Anythingto get his girl to talk to him.”
“What?” I narrow my eyes at her, jealousy and possessiveness raging through me at the thought of anyone claiming this woman as theirs other than me. “Who?”
She blinks up at me innocently as if she can see I’m about a second away from slamming her against the nearest wall and kissing her until she forgets all about that grand romantic gesture. “Who was the rock star? Booker Holland from Suburban Outcasts.”
“No,” I grind out, “who was he there for?”
She laughs lightly as we start walking toward the park a few blocks away. “Anna. They’re married now and just had their first baby,” there’s a dreamy little sigh on the last few words which has more questions bubbling up in me; questions I shouldn’t ask.
Knowing it wasn’t my Reese he was there for, my body relaxes, and I can appreciate her story more. “With the boombox and everything?”
She glances up at me, her impish smile back in place. “Yup,” she pops the p. When she glances up at me again there’s defeat in her eyes. I hate it. “So,” she draws out the word, “I know you didn’t come over to take a walk with me or ask me about my day. Let’s get this over with.”
I challenge her, “Get what over with?”