Page 25 of Double Puck

I lean against the counter, grinning as Kai sets down the biggest, sugariest iced coffee known to mankind in front of me.

It’s a masterpiece.

“Easy,” I say, taking a deep sip and letting out a completely inappropriate moan. “Raw talent, baby. Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some fuel their greatness with salted caramel butter.”

That, and the fact that my big brother has apparently carried me his entire life.

Darcy pinches the bridge of her nose like just being near me gives her a migraine. “Remind me to add ‘human biology defies logic’ to your scouting report.”

“Please. You love it.” I tap the straw against my lips and smirk. “Admit it, Madden. Part of you is impressed I haven’t already turned into a human churro.”

“At this stage, I'm just impressed you completed one beach run,” Darcy says.

Luna slides our table marker across the counter. “Number eighteen. Try not to have sex on the patio.”

Kai glances up with that slow, hippie smile of his.

"Hey, don't knock it." He sets down the filter like he's making a very serious point. "Luna and I did it on the beach at sunrise once. Changed my whole perspective on life, man. Highly recommend the open air mating ritual."

I point at him. "See? That's the energy I want for this breakfast."

Darcy picks up the table marker. "Table eighteen. Let's go."

“Keep the G-string inside your leggings this time,” Kai calls after us. “The seagulls get confused.”

Darcy makes a sound that's somewhere between a laugh and a scream and snatches up the cutlery. “That won’t be a problem.”

She stalks toward the patio, checking the back of her shirt twice before she sits. I take the chair opposite her, placing myself between Darcy and the rest of the communal table.

Our food arrives while Darcy is tapping aggressively at her phone, probably organizing her outfit for the gala.

My French toast looks incredible as always, with two thick slabs of brioche buried beneath berries, whipped cream and glossy salted caramel butter, with bacon curling at the edges of the plate.

Darcy looks at it, rolls her eyes, then looks back to her phone.

So I reach across and steal one of her potatoes.

Her fork comes down on the back of my hand.

“Ow!”

She aims the fork at my face. “Touch my breakfast again and lose a finger.”

"Christ." I shake my hand to soothe the pain. “Have you always been this violent?”

“I'll have you know, my ballet teachers called me disciplined. You should try it sometime.”

I stare at her, my gaze dropping to the leggings again. “Wait. You were a ballerina?”

“For eleven years.” She cuts into her eggs like she hasn’t just handed me enough material to derail the rest of my morning. Then she glances up and catches me staring. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

"Sorry." I shake my head. “I’m just trying to picture it.”

“It’s not difficult. I wore a pretty pink leotard and danced majestically.”

My gaze drops to the strip of bare stomach between her crop top and leggings.

Goddamn.