Page 39 of Satisfaction Guaranteed

He can feel the residual ache his last client had left him with after an impromptu slap across the jaw before leaving with their feelings hurt and pride in shambles. The sad part is, he couldn’t even blame them. It had been going so well: nails into his back, shameless moans that told Cyrus he was doing all the right things. Then, he fucked up. Alana popped into his head at the last goddamn second, and he ended up cumming early with a whispered grunt of her name that clearly wasn’t as quiet as he initially thought.

There was no salvaging the scene after that.

Now, here he is: clients canceled for the remainder of the week, standing outside Alana’s bakery so he can finally put this thing to rest and get on with his life. He’s throwing away his rule book, and he’s going to ask her out. And then, Alana is going to reject him. She’s going to say she’s not interested in him outside of his services. He’s going to take that rejection, swallow it like a dry pill, and move on. And probably move cities. Or at least, find a different coffee shop with far less attractive staff.

Cyrus’ chest expands with a long, deep inhale. When he releases it, he straightens his stance and makes his way inside, where familiar notes of coffee grounds and sugar envelop him like a warm blanket.

“Well, look who it is,” the woman Cyrus has come to recognize as Citlalli says. She smiles at him, all pointed teeth and loud jewelry accenting her wrists. A feline shifter of some kind, he figures. If her scent was any indication. “You’re usually not here this late. What can I get you?”

“Actually, I was, uh, just wondering if Miss Alana was here.” Cyrus smiles nervously.

The shifter’s eyes dilate, her own smile broadening in the corners. “Oh, yeah? Why?”

“I just wanted to talk with her,” Cyrus says. He fidgets with his belt buckle and glances around for a glimpse of her.

“Sorry, big guy. I gave her the day off so she can focus on her party,” she says. “Her family owns a lake house not too far from here.”

Cyrus tilts his head. “Party?”

“Yup. Tonight’s her birthday,” Citlalli accentuates the ‘p’ with a loud pop and examines her retractable nails. “Closing up shop early tonight to go help prepare, actually.”

Shit, right. Alana had mentioned her birthday was coming up. Has that much time passed already? Cyrus curses and runs a hand through his tousled hair.

“You should come,” Citlalli adds. “Alana ended up telling me about your little date. I’m sure she’d be jazzed to see you.

Being the favorite on her roster now and all.”

Cyrus’ jaw twitches. “Roster?”

“Yeah. Kurt, Imara, Miguel, that Connor guy,” Citlalli goes on to list the various people Alana has apparently been with over the last couple of weeks. It shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. Yet, it doesn’t stop the vein in Cyrus’ neck from throbbing like it could burst. He’s about to say screw it to all inconspicuousness and ask her about them when her laughter cuts in. “Dude, I’m just fucking with you. I knew it! You like her, huh? How many of those names were you hunting down in your head just then?”

Cyrus flusters, his mouth opening and closing like a beached sea creature.

Citlalli only laughs harder. “Relax, big guy. The only one of those folks who is real is Connor. Not going to tell you how that went, though. You’re going to have to ask her.”

Selfishly, he’d hoped Connor decided to be an ass and bail at the last minute. Or spontaneously decide to move out of the country.

At the continued fumble of his words, Citlalli prints off some blank receipt paper, grabs a pen to jot down an address, and shoves it in his direction. “Tonight at 6 p,m. It’s nothing fancy, so dress casually.”

Cyrus blinks down at the paper as if it’s something foreign. Hesitantly, he accepts it, glazing over the address with a look of determination. It probably isn’t the most sane thing to do, showing up unannounced to someone’s birthday party. But if he doesn’t get this burning question off his chest, he may very well explode. Pocketing it, he offers the shifter a small nod. “Thanks, I’ll be there.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CYRUS

To say that Cyrus is a little out of his depth when it comes to parties would be an understatement.

It isn’t necessarily his fault—most of his social interactions tend to stem from work, where the only kind of talking that’s expected of him is, well, the dirty kind.

That is to say, he just doesn’t get out much. Aside from the occasional hours spent at the local bar, whatever time he grants himself throughout the week is usually spent at his ranch with his animals or with Tommy and his family. Lounging by their pool, running around with the kids until they tire themselves out. It’s been longer than he cares to admit since he’s done something that didn’t involve immediate family.

Cyrus takes a nervous breath as he parks where his GPS has led him, finding a spot amongst the other cars haphazardly nestled together in no particular order. It’s a tight fit, but he manages to claim a chunk of space without sideswiping anyone. He kicks the door shut to his old pickup and glances toward the back of the house. People have already begun to gather by the dock, ready to take advantage of the relief the lake has to offer.

The kind of summers they get out here aren’t anything like when Cyrus lived in Texas. That humid, stick-in-your-throat kind of heat is replaced with something far more dry. One could argue that it was a different kind of the same hell, but at least there’s a slight coolness in the breezes here.

Cyrus wipes the condensation gathering on his brow as he approaches the pathway leading to the backyard. The distant sounds of laughter and water splashing send a smile across his face. It’s easy to be pulled back to his time over at his grandparents’ house, the one he and Tommy went to every summer when they were kids. They didn’t have a fancy lake or anything like that, but a hose and an above-ground pool had been their saving grace back then. Back when their biggest problems were stained, sticky hands from picking cactus fruits in the desert behind the house.

When did life stop being that simple?