Page 18 of Under Pressure

Oh, that’s right. It was the other day, and the fingers that ghosted over mine belonged to none other than Beckett Rourke, the same person who’s responsible for my shitty mood.

Howfuckingperfect. That’s exactly the reminder I needed.

If it weren’t for him and his stupid constant presence in my café, I wouldn’t have spent so many hours not only today but this entire week glancing up at the door in search of him. Every single time I broke my gaze from my work to search for him, I grew to hate myself a little more.

At this point, I’m about ready to scoop my eyeballs out so I’m not tempted to do it again.

And it’s not even that Iwantto see him. It’s that I’ve grown so used to seeing his annoyingly handsome face and hearing that low, sexy purring voice of his say those ridiculous, flirtatiouswords that I’ve looked for both, if only so I can have an excuse to be a little mean to someone.

Beck is the perfect person to verbally spar with because I think the asshole likes it when I’m mean to him.

That in itself is a problem for me. Not to mention the rest of it.

“At least let me introduce you,” Ruthie says before rolling her lips, clearly struggling not to force my hand.

That’s when it hits me.

The idea is terrible. Totally, certifiably insane. I know that I’m going to want to curl up in the oven and turn it as high as it will go the moment I speak, but I know better than to give myself a sense of false hope here. Ruthie isn’t going to let this go until I agree, and that’s just not going to happen.

This is the safest option, even if I have a gut feeling that I’m going to regret it.

Closing my eyes, I speak before giving myself a chance to change my mind.

“Okay, you caught me. I don’t want to meet your grandson because I’m already interested in someone else.”

8

My shoulders ache.Muscles that I haven’t used in months throb as I pull my car into the best spot on the street and put it in Park. The spot could realistically fit two cars, but I’m not in the mood to care that I’m parked like a jackass right now.

Being away from home so often is by far the worst part of this job. My family is close, and I miss them when I’m gone, even if my mother doesn’t hesitate to spam me with calls and FaceTime requests that usually feature a close-up of the inside of Dad’s nose. Talking over the phone isn’t the same as seeing each other in person.

I’d never trade this career for anything, but it still fucking sucks sometimes.

The street is jam-packed this afternoon as everyone jumps at the chance to bathe under the scorching sun. I peer through the tinted lenses of my sunglasses at a group of guys passing my car. One of them pushes the shoulder of another, and they all turn to look at a table full of women as they sit outside Blank Page and sip on smoothies. The tallest one has a build like a string bean, and I can’t help but glance at his knees, wondering how they hold him up as he calls out to the table.

“Got room for one more?”

Slowly, all three women turn and look at him, their disinterest so obvious it yanks a laugh from my chest. I tap the window control, waiting before rolling it up.

But instead of speaking, the women collectively raise their middle fingers at the group of guys. I lick my teeth as I grin and roll the window up. They remind me of Brielle and Aubrey, though the latter would have tossed her smoothie at them for good measure rather than turn her back again.

Maybe that’s why Finn’s so goo-goo over her. She’s a spitfire. I remember being terrified of her the first time we met when Finn joined the team.

Quinn would fit right in with them.

Dislodging that thought, I turn the car off and throw my door open. The late-afternoon sun warms the back of my neck as I step out and lock the doors twice.

I’m here later than I usually am. That’s partially because I only got back to Vancouver two hours ago, but also because I wasn’t sure if I should even come today. Not after the guys spent the last week giving me a hard time about how desperate I’ve been acting.

It’s not the first time they’ve given me a hard time about Quinn, but this time . . . I couldn’t help but agree with them. At least a little.

I’ve been coming here so often that the fans have staked the place out, knowing with ninety-nine percent certainty that they’re going to run into me one time or another. Most of them know about the rumours that have infiltrated the media surrounding me and my dating life, and I worry it’s only a matter of time before they connect the dots I’ve made way too fucking obvious.

There’s only one reason I come here every day that I’m in town, and it’s obviously not the coffee.

Blowing out a breath, I ignore the groups of people on thepatio and tug the door harder than necessary. My face is pretty shielded by the sunglasses and hat that I’ve kept facing forward, so I force myself to relax a bit as I walk inside.

The scent hits me immediately, and I school my features to hide my initial reaction. It’s grown on me after all these months. Though it does hide the scent of Quinn’s perfume a bit too much. Without sniffing at her like a horny dog, I’m usually left disappointed.