My mind pictures her stunned face when I bring her something, those tempting eyes bugging wide, probably chewing on that plump bottom lip of hers…
She hates being on my bad side, but everything is safer with her there.
I can’t tell her why I act the way I do, because it’s just a bunch of fucking drama, and it’s something I firmly intend to keep in my past. But I also can't let that shit get in the way of building a solid team. That’s self-sabotage.
No matter what, Idoneed her.
Maybe a coffee will be all that needs to be said.
* * *
I don’t have my usual morning cardio, so I begin the thirty-minute walk to the gym as my warmup. Hood up, I stuff my hands in my pockets and enjoy the leisurely stroll through the chilly morning. I stop by a coffee shop that’s two blocks over.
Lowering my hood when I enter, I raise a brow as this one’sreallyinto their aesthetics with worn wood counters, random plants, and signs with trendy sayings painted on them. Rich, roasted coffee saturates my lungs, which is a welcome scent this early in the morning. There’s already people sitting in here with laptops.
Quite a few eyes linger on me.
I’m not bothered by it. Every fighter gets some kind of look when in the middle of training, especially wearing our sweats.
Lifting my gaze to the blackboard with white, handwritten words, my eyes slightly widen when I see all the freaking options. What should I get her? A latte? That seems popular, and at least I know whatthatis. The rest is just Italian gibberish.
Nearing the counter, the barista’s gaze frequently drops to my chest, my tank top visible through my zip-up, revealing a bit of contour with how it clings to me. Women always seem to lose their shit when I wear this. I just like them because they’re cheap, and anything I work out in will be ruined by sweat. I don’t need the fancy shit to train in.
I stare at the board, swiping at my nose as I say, “Alright, so I’m gonna be completely honest, I don’t come to these places often. I’m buying a coffee for someone who likes it, though, and she mentioned a latte once. What do you recommend?”
The barista tucks her warm blonde hair behind her ear. “Oh yeah, no problem. Uh, what kind of latte?”
I furrow my brows and glare at her, although I’m not glaringather. “There’re options?”
I soften my gaze when I realize I nearly frightened the poor woman, whose brown eyes widen as if she might cry, nervously pushing up her circular glasses.Come on, lady, I can only deal with one crying woman in my life at a time.
“Yeah, uh, yes. Cold or hot for starters, then you can add flavors like caramel or chocolate. Or different kinds of milk, like almond or oat.”
Oh, likethatnarrows it down. I press my lips together and pull out my wallet, shaking my head. “Whatever milk people like to get, I guess. No extra flavor. Don’t know what she likes. Make it as normal as possible.”
J U L I E
* * *
That following Monday, I’m sitting at my desk, inputting information before creating everyone’s schedule for the coming week. I hold my breath when I seehimin the doorway. He hardly—if ever—comes to my office without scheduling.
To say it shocks me when I spot Twisted Coffee in Ryder’s hands would be an understatement.
“Got this for you when I was grabbing coffee this morning,” he states, placing it on my desk.
I nearly faint.
I can’t believe it.
Ryder bought me a coffee.
I cautiously smile as I grip it, wondering if there’s an ulterior motive. Not necessarily out of malice, but because thisishighly suspect. “Uh, thanks, Ryder. You didn’t have to get this for me... what’s this for?”
“Sorry if you wanted something more elaborate than a plain latte. I had no idea what to order when they told me there are like twenty freaking options.”
He looks at me with those pale, deep-set eyes that never fail to singe my professionalism, especially since his regular glower is tempered.
The thought of Ryder ordering a latte sends my lips quivering in a failed attempt to suppress a goofy grin. Is erotic literature really the way to breaking down this man’s walls?
