Page 21
Phineas held up his pinky. “I am an official fancy drinker. How cool is that?” He sat on the stool Reaper had vacated. “Do pastries come with the sophisticated flat white?”
Baby, you can have whatever you want. “You have to taste the drink first. Need your true reaction without sugar contaminating the results.”
“Okay.” But he said it with a pout. “Deprive this addict of his flaky addiction.”
A bark of laughter escaped me, startling Phineas. He recovered quickly, grinning.
“You have a deep laugh.” That damn blush. “It’s nice.”
“You have a beautiful laugh,” I said as I skidded the drink toward him. “Gotta question.”
“Might have an answer.” Phineas’ brows shot up, as if shocked by his witty comeback.
“Sure hope so,” I said, watching as he took a sip.
“You have got to stop giving me new addictions.” Phineas moaned then slid his tongue across his lips, chasing the foam clinging to his mouth.
I could only stare, my mind dive-bombing into the gutter. So many filthy images flooded my brain, it nearly shorted out. My cock pressed against my jeans, and I was thankful there was a counter between us. I was taking things slow, but my imagination had Phineas bent over, flour in his hair, crying out my motherfucking name.
“So, what was your question?” Phineas took another sip, moaning his pleasure. If he kept making those noises, my boys would have to shoot my feral ass. My cock was so hard it was painful.
“Cookout.” My brain latched onto the thought for dear life. “I grill at home on Fridays. Friends are there, but socializing isn’t a requirement.”
A strange look entered Phineas’ eyes. “Are you inviting me over? You want me to hang out with your friends?”
He slid the back of his hand over his mouth, wiping away the remaining foam, staring at me like he was in shock. Made me wonder how often he spent time with friends. Did Phineas even have friends?
“Yeah, I am.” I leaned my arms back onto the counter, only this time it was to make myself smaller, to feel less intimidating as my mate considered the invite.
Regret filled his eyes. “I have to work late Friday.”
Genuine disappointment clouded his eyes, like he would’ve said yes if work hadn’t gotten in the way. I would open another door and let him decide if he was brave enough to walk through.
If he wasn’t ready, I wasn’t doing much with my time. I would give Phineas as much of it as he needed.
“No biggie.” I set a croissant on a plate in front of him. “The invitation doesn’t have set hours. If you want, stop by afterward. Your choice, Phineas with a P-H.”
Might’ve been laying it on thick, but I could see in his eyes he was waffling and I wanted him to land on a yes.
I could literally see him struggling with his decision and would’ve thrown him a lifejacket, but some steps I had to let him make on his own.
Even if it killed me not to ease his mind.
“Can I think about it?”
“No pressure.” I winked then scribbled my phone number and the club address on a scrap of receipt paper and slid it to him. “In case you feel like hanging out with grill smoke and an oversized excited puppy.”
“You have a dog?” His eyes became impossibly brighter, bouncing lightly on his stool.
I’d been referring to me. “German shepherd. Technically not mine, but Gunner-Noodles won’t care who her owners are if another potential playmate shows up.”
Phineas pocketed the paper and smiled. “I love animals.”
I hoped that was true. He would be surrounded by a dozen apex predators with trucks and shovels at the ready.
Chapter Eight
Phineas
