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“Morning,” I half grunt, rounding the corner and heading back toward the coffee station.
“Aah!” A high-pitched squeal startles me as I collide with an outstretched Styrofoam cup, hot coffee splashing down the front of my flannel shirt. A dark-brown stain blooms over the blue-and-white-checked fabric, now sticking to my skin.
“Well, shit.” I pull my shirt away from my body and shake off as much of the hot liquid as I can, then stalk over to the Formica counter, where I pluck white square napkins from the tall pile.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, King.” Juliet trails behind me; then her small hands are dabbing at my shirt, trying to sop up the spill with flimsy gas station napkins. Tiny pulses hit my chest, and my heart’s banging so hard I’m certain she can hear it, feel it beneath the wet material.
She’s inches from me now, her fresh cotton scent mixing with the strong smell of dark roast and hitting me straight in the nostrils. Every inch of me prickles like I’m on fire as I fight against the sudden hard-on springing to life in my jeans.
Hopefully she stays focused on my chest, because that situation’s gonna be pretty damn obvious in a few seconds.
It’s her voice that gets to me. Every single time. Soft, seductive, almost a purr deep down in her throat. The vibrations so low only the two of us can hear.
Sexy as hell.
I shouldn’t have come in here. This was a big mistake.
“It’s fine.” I step back, putting space between us. Her hands flutter through the air, suddenly taskless, clutching the soggy napkins.
Against my better judgment, I let my eyes slide to hers, sending a sharp jolt straight through me.
I’ll never get over those eyes, the bright ring of green blending into a cocoa center, with gold flecks that sparkle in the sunlight. The way she stares straight at you, all wide-eyed and innocent.
My mom used to say her eyes were beguiling. I didn’t even know what that meant until I looked it up in the dictionary.
Beguiling /be·guil·ing/ (adjective) : charming, enchanting. Highly attractive and tempting.
Tempting is right.
Heat creeps up my chest to my face, and I’m having a hard time getting air into my lungs. A warm cup of joe is no longer important—I need to get out of here right fucking now.
“I can’t believe I did that. I’m really sorry.” Juliet gnaws at her bottom lip, and damn if I can’t stop staring.
Tearing my gaze from her mouth, I somehow force words out, my voice harsher than I mean it to be.
“Whatever, it’s fine. I have more shirts.”
She swallows hard, and I’m in a weird time vortex where everything’s moving fast and slow at the same time. I shove my sweaty palms into my back pockets, try to act casual and downplay the panic attack I’m about to have right here in the gas station.
Taking a step to the right, I attempt to move around her. Juliet moves to her left, and we’re still face-to-face with each other.
“Sorry.” She blushes, her cheeks bright-pink splotches, and moves in the other direction at the same moment I slide over to the left. Now we’re boot to sneaker, locked in an awkward dance.
“Sorry,” I grumble, tipping my hat to her. “Ladies first.”
I take a big step to the side, giving her ample space to pass.
“Thanks. I’m just gonna get a refill.” She waves her mostly empty cup in the air, her glossy lips screwed up in embarrassment.
“I’ll get out of your way then.”
Without another moment of hesitation, I hustle out of the gas station, not even bothering to wave goodbye to Barty.
Head pounding, I bolt to my truck, then unlock the door and launch myself into the driver’s seat. I slam the door shut, fire up the engine, and peel out of the lot before Juliet exits with her refreshed coffee.
It’s been a helluva morning, and it’s not even eight a.m. yet.
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