Rowan throws up his hands and shakes his head, smiling. Then he retreats behind the counter, where I swear he’s watching us as he arranges apple tarts on a tray.
With an effort, I turn away from him and refocus my attention on the cinnamon roll. It smells heavenly, like warm yeast and butter and cinnamon, and I wolf it down so fast I end up with icing all over my fingers. It’s the most heavenly thing I’ve eaten in months.
I’m about to duck out to the bathroom to wash my hands when I think of a better idea. I fix Dex with a piercing stare and start sucking the icing off my fingers in the most suggestive way I can manage.
He tries to match my seductive look, but soon he’s laughing. He kicks me under the table, and somehow our knees end up resting against each other.
“Stop that!” he chokes out.
I suck another finger into my mouth, not breaking my stare.
“Fuck, Korren! Go wash your hands! You’re going to kill me.”
I finally relent and disappear to the bathroom, and when I return, Dex is wiping his eyes and grinning at me with his dimples showing.
“You surprise me,” Dex says as I slide back into my chair. This time I don’t shift away when our legs end up touching under the table.
“Why?”
“I didn’t realize you had a sense of humor.”
“Asshole.”
Dex grins. “Also, I didn’t take you for a cinnamon roll kind of guy.”
“What, so you’re an expert on people’s pastry preferences now?”
Dex laughs. “No, but you like your coffee black, so—”
“Sugar in a drink is disgusting. Sugar in any other form is the best thing ever invented.”
“You’re strange.”
I take a sip of my coffee, which is just as delicious as the donut. I used to be really particular about my coffee, only drinking fair trade French press style, which makes me sound like a complete douchebag. But after a year of instant coffee—and I even ran out of that about a month ago, just like everything else—I’ve learned that some things in life should be treated as the blessing they are, no matter what form they come in.
Dex reaches out and takes my hand again while we nurse our drinks, and this time I just hold his gaze, wondering who will look away first. Maybe he really is better at acting than I am, because I’m almost convinced I can see genuine regard in his warm brown eyes.
And fuck me, but some part of me is so desperate for a scrap of affection from another person that I want to lap it up, even though it comes from a guy.
I’m screwed.
It’s funny, too—when I first saw Dex, I didn’t think much of him except envy that he got along so easily with the rest of the fire crew. He fit the image of a firefighter perfectly, and that was all I noticed.
Now I’m picking up on bits of softness around his blunt face. The way the corners of his eyes crinkle when he smiles. The dimples in his cheeks that rarely show themselves. The hint of stubble on his usually cleanshaven chin. If I were into guys, he’d probably be my type.
And this is a bad train of thought to follow when I’m sitting here with my hand in his, our legs touching beneath the table, staring deep into his eyes.
I blink and search for a distraction. Something that will make Dex pull away and stop looking at me with such warmth.
“You said your reputation here is trashed,” I say. “What’ve you done? I’m not about to move in with the local gang leader, am I?”
Dex gives a soft, self-conscious laugh, his hand twitching in mine. “No. Just some shit I got involved in while I was in college. I always thought of myself as a normal, decent guy, but then I ended up in this really toxic relationship with a girl who turned out to be nothing but trouble.”
“In what way?”
“I haven’t told anyone about this. So—”
“I won’t say anything. Promise.”
