“I dunno,” Hawke mutters. “Feels like there’s more to it.” He shakes his head as if to dispel his circling thoughts. “By the way, Rome, did you see Morgan take any bets last night?” Roman shakes his head. “Neither did I,” Hawk reveals. He turns to Ford. “What about you?”
“Nothing,” Ford answers. “What about you, Jag?” He snaps his fingers. “Oh, wait. You couldn’t have seen Morgan take any bets because you bailed within the first hour.”
“Cut him some slack,” Roman mutters. “It’s not his fault Virgil showed up without an invitation.”
“True,” Ford concedes. “Look at the bright side. If none of us saw Morgan take any bets, then we should be in the clear, right? He’s not trying to steal our business from under our noses?”
Rubbing my jaw, I murmur, “Not sure if I’d go that far, but it’s a good sign for now. How was the race?”
Ford whistles. “Dude, you should’ve seen me fly across the finish line.” He kisses his fingertips like a seasoned chef. “It was glorious.”
“You’re lucky the Ferrari cut me off on the last turn,” Roman volleys.
Laughing, Ford waves him off. “Luck. Skill. Either way, I handed you your ass.”
“Whatever.” Roman rolls his eyes. “Speaking of last night, where’s Violet?”
Excellent question. I grit my teeth, muttering, “No idea.”
“Probably at work,” Ford offers. Seeing my surprise, he adds, “Not all of us were born with a silver spoon in our mouth, remember?”
The smartass has a point. She usually works mornings on the weekends, then buckles down and tackles homework afterward. It also makes sense why she didn’t wake me before leaving. Right? Or maybe it’s just my bruised ego talking. Only one way to find out.
With a slow nod, I jog toward the base of the stairs. “Hey, Cobes!” I call.
“Yeah?”
“How do you feel about grabbing some coffee?”
Her squeal echoes from the second floor. “Don’t toy with me, big brother.”
Hawke smirks. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Grab something for the rest of us, too,” Hawke adds. “The usual. I’m going to shower.”
“You want anything?” I ask Roman.
He shakes his head. “Nah. I’m gonna head out.”
“Where?” Ford asks.
“Just…” He grabs a spare coat hanging on the hook by the front door. “Out.”
36
VIOLET
Islept over. I probably shouldn’t have, but considering the circumstances, I figured it wouldn't hurt. One, I didn’t have my car. Two, we were both still a little buzzed. And three, the idea of going back to my apartment felt…lonely, I guess. Add in his offer to let me sleep in his bed, and I caved. The next morning, I texted June, begging her to take my car and come pick me up so I wouldn’t be late for work. If I close my eyes, I can still see a naked Jagger, with way too many sexy tattoos for his own good, asleep in his bed, with the sheets at his waist and his hair sticking up in every direction. Yeah, that man is something else.
Thankfully, it’s been busy this morning, so I haven’t had too much time to overanalyze last night and what it might or mightnotmean. I wasn’t lying to Jagger when I told him it had been awhile since I’ve had sex. I’m not stupid enough to think Jagger’s in the same boat. Hell, the man goes through women like the customers at The Bean Scene go through coffee. It’s this well-known fact that keeps bringing me back to earth instead of daydreaming about what it would be like to have a guy like Jagger all to myself. Then again, do I even want that? Thethought flutters through me as one of my coworkers yells from out front. “Violet, will you take the front? I gotta pee.”
“Sure thing!” I wipe my hands on my apron, then head to the counter so I can take over. That’s when I see him. Jagger Harden. And he’s not alone. Across from him sits a pretty woman with long, honey-colored hair. Well. Uh.Shit.I start to turn on my heel, determined to go back to the stockroom and continue taking inventory when the bell on the front door rings, and in walks one of our regulars.
Fighting my flight or fight response, I take a deep breath and approach the counter. “Hey, Ricky,” I say. “What can I get for you?”
“Well, uh.” He tugs at the collar of his T-shirt, and looks over the menu. I’d find it amusing if I wasn’t dying from shame. My eyes flick to Jagger and whoever-she-is at the furthest booth. She doesn’t look familiar. Does it make the situation better or worse? She must be new. So, it’s not an old thing, but a new one. She’s young, too. Not a baby by any means, but?—
It. Doesn’t. Matter.
