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SHITSHITSHIT.
“Drop it, Bull,” I grit out tightly.
He continues, practically salivating at the prospect, (I’m not sure which entices him more, betting or the girl), “Take the bet, dude. Broads love bad boys, especially the good girls. I think they love the thrill of being bad, maybe they even get off on being used, taken, you know? Rough and hard and dirty.” His smirk is wicked and sleazy.
Hooked! Damn him!
I shove to my feet, fists clenched at my sides. “Yeah, but they don’t like dogs, which is exactly what you are.”
“Why don’t we find out? I’ll let you know what she says,” he smirks as he starts to stand.
“Sit the fuck down,” I growl with a hand at his chest, stopping him. “If anyone’s going to find out, it’s me. No. Fucking. Body. Else. I’ll prove she’s not our type.”
He’s still chuckling as I pull open the front door to walk next door to Tinkerbell’s coffee shop, The Magic Bean. I have entertained myself often visualizing her flicking her sweet little bean while I watched, imagining her moans and whimpers and the look on her face when she makes herself come.
“What are you going to do if she is, Rock? Bring her over and we’ll take good care of her. You get one shot, dude, then I’m going in,” fucking Bull doesn’t stop as the door shuts behind me.
God help the woman if she is.
I fume the few steps to the coffee shop’s door and yank it open. In the doorway, I rake my eyes over the inviting space before I walk in, pumped from Bull’s bullshit.
I hesitate. I’m impressed.
She did a really nice job in here.
It’s inviting with just enough of a feminine touch to be warm and welcoming, in brick terracotta and deep dark blue colors. There are several customer tables and all of them are occupied, with more people sitting on the stools at the bar running the length of a wall. There are shelves with unique coffee mugs, t-shirts, gift baskets, coffee and teas for home, a refrigerator filled with juices and water, and a display case with pastries. As I approach the counter, the original artwork she’s used around the space as décor catches my eye. The Beatles is piped in from hidden speakers as background music. I grin. Everyone smiles when imagining living in a yellow submarine.
Really nice.
Not for the first time I wonder where this girl came from and what her deal is. One day she was just here from out of nowhere, working on the shop all by herself, cleaning, painting, doing everything on her own she could, leaving the big stuff to the professionals.
Yeah, I’ve been watching her.
All her hard work paid off.
I step up to the counter and wait as Tinkerbell talks to the customer she’s taking care of. As I stand behind the guy who’s taking his sweet ass time, I look over the unsuspecting woman’s head at the chalkboard menu on the wall behind her.
What the fuck is all that? Frappe’s, Latte’s, Americano’s, Skinny fucking Black Velvet? What the fuck? Where the hell is the coffee?
The thing reads like a gourmet menu I’ve never ordered from before.
Still pissed about Bull and his stupid bet, frustration head-butts me with the sound of the object of that frustration just a few feet away.
“Is that it for this morning, Steve?” Tinkerbell asks the douche in the bad suit in front of me.
She even sounds innocent, why am I here, this is insane.
“You to go, Summer,” comes his typical pansy come on.
Possession flares through me. It’s all I can do to keep from grabbing him by the neck and throwing his ass out of her shop.
What the hell is wrong with me? She’s just a girl. A nice girl, I remind myself.
“You’re sweet,” she replies with a polite smile. “Four fifty-nine, please,” she ignores him.
Mr. Douche makes a production of pulling out a Louis Vuitton wallet. Yeah, I know something about fashion and designer labels, enough to know that pretentious assholes like him use it to get in a broad’s pants. It’s obvious this little dick can’t get a woman on his own.
“One of these days, Summer, you’re going to let me take you out somewhere,” the guy looks around the room, “nice.”
