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Her smile is sad. “Good. But he… it doesn’t really matter. He’s not interested.”
“You sure?”
“A hundred percent.”
“Leigh, you’re hot as fuck.”
“I am?”
“We went over this yesterday.”
“I don’t recall.”
“Look at your tits.”
She makes a show of tilting her head down. “Can’t see them.”
“Here.” I grab my cell, pull up a photo of her from our run. She’s wearing nothing. Shining with sweat. Flushed. Staring at the camera like she’s begging it to make her come.
“They look good in this picture, yes.”
“You’re smart. Funny. Talented.”
“I put up with your bullshit.”
I chuckle. “So how the fuck do you know he’s not interested?”
“I just do.”
I hate this jerk for the way she’s frowning.
This guy doesn’t realize she’s amazing.
He doesn’t deserve her.
But she’s my friend.
I’m gonna help her figure out shit with this idiot.
Even if I want to punch him in his stupid face.
Chapter 8
Ryan
“What’s he do?” The words fade into the chatter. This is the hippest coffee shop in the area on a Saturday afternoon. It’s packed.
“Huh?” Leighton takes a long sip of her coffee—the mint mojito that shouldn’t be good, but is—and lets out a heavy sigh. “Fuck. How did I not know this existed?”
Somehow, her moan cuts through the room. It bounces off the concrete floor, the high ceiling, the uncomfortable metal chairs.
Her lipstick stains the white lid.
Her black fingernails scrape the brown paper cup.
Some guy in slacks and a dress shirt turns toward us. He gives Leighton a long once-over then shoots me a nice look.
Fuck that, asshole.
