Page 19 of Under Pressure

At first, I don’t see her behind the counter. Disappointment hits me square in the chest, making it feel a bit too tight. Eli’s here again, but Callie isn’t. Neither of those observations surprises me.

The chatter of conversation is so loud it’snearlyuncomfortable as I linger beside the small counter meant to collect dirty cups and plates. All the tables are full right now. A few of the customers are typing away on laptops or holding books beneath their noses, while the rest are talking at a mile a minute, fully engaged with each other.

It’s overwhelming, but not in a bad way. I can see the appeal in coming to a place like this. Somewhere warm and humming with a softness that never seems to disappear, day or night. It has a way of calming the soul. At least, that’s what it does to me.

“Have you been secretly seeking a job?”

My skin ripples beneath the light touch on my forearm. I drop my gaze, my gaze burning into the pale fingers touching me. The heat burning through my flesh is enough to have my cock twitching in my briefs before I look at who I know is behind this visceral reaction.

I struggle to stabilize my breathing when I dip my chin and peer past my shoulder. Quinn’s blue-grey gaze sparkles with the softest hint of humour as her brow lifts in a silent question.

She still hasn’t let go of me.

“Is that a no?” she asks, tone prodding.

My palms are sweating. There’s something swelling in mythroat, cutting off my airway. She taps a singular finger to my wrist and releases me. Instantly, I can breathe again. The first pull of air into my lungs burns, like I haven’t been breathing at all.

The humour is snuffed out of her eyes as they go carefully dull. “Are you . . . okay?”

“Yep. Yeah, I’m good.” I clear my throat and shove my hands into my pockets. “It’s busy.”

“You don’t like crowds?”

The way she asks it makes me feel out of place. Judged, even. It’s not a new sensation. People have judged me my entire life, and they judged me even more after I joined the MLB. She can do it all she wants.

I have no problem with proving her every impression of me wrong.

“Why would I like them?” I counter.

“I assumed you were used to them.”

“I am.”

She purses her lips. “So?”

“So what?”

It’s impossible not to smile at her annoyance. The pressure in my groin continues to grow as I get harder, feeling the opposite of intimidated by her snippy attitude.

“So, if you hate them, I would expect that makes your job complicated. It’s a miracle I haven’t watched you get swarmed in here.”

“Worried about me, gorgeous?” I purr.

She narrows her eyes, pushing out a grumbled sigh. “You’re standing in my way. Unless you’re planning on taking these dishes to the back and washing them, you’ll need to move.”

I turn and begin stacking the pale yellow and green coffee cups. Once they get as high as I can comfortably carry without dropping and shattering them, I set them on top of the plates and start toward the back of the building. A beat later, I hear footsteps behind me and let my smile grow.

“That wasn’t a serious suggestion. You’re not going to wash those,” she argues, catching up to me.

“It sure feels like I am.”

“I’m not going to pay you.”

“I don’t want your money.”

I come to an abrupt stop when she slides in front of me and stares wide-eyed at the cups that shake briefly at the motion. Exasperated, she circles her fingers around both of my wrists and stabilizes them, putting a stop to the rattling glass.

My pulse skips as I once again lower my gaze to where we touch. Desire darkens the edges of my vision, forcing me to bite down on my tongue before I say anything that’s going to put a stop to this rare moment. Becausefuck, I love her hands on me.