This time, I can’t hold back my frustrated growl. I rip off the leather and place it over her shoulders. When she tries to fight me, I grip her hands. “Just stop. Take the damn thing. I’m offering a jacket, not my dick.” Though I would hand it over, too, if I thought she’d take it. Twice now, she’s left me with blue balls. “There’s nothing to explain.”
Her nose scrunches, and a small, humorous huff passes her pouty lips. “Fine.” Something twists in my chest when I watch her pull it tighter.
“Now, how about coffee for the trip?” I jerk my head to the left. “Isn’t there a coffee shop around the corner?” I know there is. I’ve seen it a few times, but I’ve never been inside.
Her mouth twists to one side, then the other. Reluctance dances in her expression once again. It takes a surprising amount of restraint not to toss her over my shoulder. I’ve never felt that urge before. But I see when she relents. “Yeah.” She nods, brushing past me with a half-smile. “I was going there first, anyway.”
Jagger
Awkward silence—or as silent as it can be in Manhattan—fills the space between us as we walk down the sidewalk toward the small café. “You don’t like the cold, do you?”
“What gave it away?” she grumbles, grabbing the door of the café. I chuckle when an audible breath of relief falls from her lips as we walk inside.
I’m immediately surprised by the girliness. It’s like Barbie threw up in here. The walls and ceiling are all baby pink. Black-and-white striped parasols hang from the ceiling along with crystal chandeliers. Small square tables are scattered randomly throughout, with the crème-colored upholstered chairs around them. And flowers…they’re artificial, but holy shit there’s a lot of them.
And me? I stick out like a sore thumb in my ripped jeans and leather jacket. Well, actually, no jacket right now, and that’s probably worse. I’m the bloodstain on their lacy doilies.
“I should’ve been born in a tropical climate,” she admits as we make our way to the wood counter. “I’ve never handled the cold very well.”
“Could be because there are five-year-olds bigger than you,” I tease with a grin, hoping to set her at ease.
“I am perfectly normal-sized, thank you,” she huffs with narrowed eyes.
“Sure you are. If normal is pint-sized. Or bite-sized.” I waggle my brows.
“Okay, pretty boy, easy on the innuendo. I think you’ve had enough of that for a few hours, don’t you?”
No. No, I don’t. Because I want her.
Behind the counter is a guy, maybe a couple of years younger than me, wearing a pale blue, long-sleeved tee with the store logo across the front. When Poppy reaches the counter, a wide smile spreads across his face. “Looking good today, Poppy.” His blue eyes trail over her as if he’s trying to see what lies beneath the layers. Then he spots me behind her, and the wide smile falters. “The usual?”
“Thanks, Tom, and yes, the usual, please.” The smile she gives him is warm and genuine. My gut twists again with that unwanted, unexpected sensation.
So what if she’s smiling at him? It shouldn’t matter to me. It doesn’t matter to me.
“What about your friend?”
“I’ll have whatever she’s having,” I say, pulling out my wallet. “It’s on me,” I tell her.
Surprise winds through me when she doesn’t argue. “Far be it from me to refuse free food.”
“That wasn’t your reaction the other night,” I remind her with a grin.
“That was when I thought a weirdo creep was trying to pay, and I was caught off-guard when I realized it was you.”
“But then you realized it was the guy you wanted to taste your tonsils?” I add the last part for Tom’s benefit, enjoying the way his face twists with disgust.
She tilts her head, her eyes narrowing with danger. “I’m going to remove your balls.”
“You don’t have to remove them. Say the word, and I’ll let you play with them right now.” I chuckle and hand Tom my card. He glares at it, not taking it, as if he doesn’t want to touch something I have. Sucks for him. I’ve already touched the girl he’s drooling over.
I dip down, placing my mouth next to her ear. “Do you and the barista have something going on?”
Over the years, I’ve been with my fair share of girls and women, but I always promised myself I’d steer clear of Casey’s friends. She doesn’t have many and struggles to make them because she’s so damn shy. And, even if she doesn’t say it, I know she is a little insecure about her friendships with Lily and Ashleigh because they are with her dad and pseudo-uncle.
This family makes my head hurt.
For inexplicable reasons, I struggle to apply the same rules to the girl in front of me. I suppose it’s a good thing she seems to have more self-control than I do. I guess if she were Graham’s ex, it would make a difference.
