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“Good morning, Detective Malone.” The hostess—Kiera—smiles wide enough to make Minka’s brows shoot up. “And Doctor…?”
“Mayet.” I speak for Minka, since she doesn’t speak up for herself, then I look toward the half-filled dining room. It’s still early, but we’re deep within the part of the city that’s filled to the brim with shift workers. There’s no such thing as business hours for this area of the city; there’s just first, second, or third shift, and making sure restaurants are stocking the right food for the right time of the day. “Can we sit?”
“Of course.” Kiera snags a couple menus from beneath her counter and sways her way to a table by the back window.
From here, we get a full view of the George Stanley. We see who comes, and who goes. Which transport vehicles drive in, and which funeral house hearses drive out. If Minka ever decided she wants an outside overview of her building, she might discover this is the very place she’d like to eat.
She steps to the far side of the table, placing her back to the wall and her eyes on the door, but before she can sit, I follow and take the collar of her coat.
Surprised by my move, Minka’s eyes shoot over my shoulder and stop on mine. Her lips are pouty and thick enough to draw my gaze, the pulse in her throat enough to make my heart change pace and work on matching.
When she’s no longer startled by my proximity, Minka unbuttons her coat and lets me take it. Then she sits, allowing me to bend closer, my mouth by her ear as I push her in. “You’re not gonna fight me forever, ya know?” I don’t press my lips to her skin, though I want so badly to.
Why?
I have no fucking idea.
Finished with her chair, I look to Kiera and paste on a wide smile as I come around to my side of the table and unbutton my own coat. “Can we start with coffee?” I drape both coats over the back of my chair and drop down until my knees touch Minka’s and my feet take up space on her side of the floor. Ignoring her growl, I ask, “What do you wanna eat?”
Minka waves me off, a predictable move, and looks to the hostess. “I’ll just have the coffee.”
“She’ll have scrambled eggs on toast. Onions. Peppers.” I look back to the woman whose eyes fire with rage. “Mushrooms?”
She shakes her head slowly, almost imperceptibly.
“No mushrooms. Probably also get her a glass of fresh juice.”
“Alrighty.” Kiera doesn’t bother writing the order down. “And you, Detective?”
“The usual, thanks.”
The moment our server bounces away, Minka snarls, “The usual? How many times have you taken that poor girl to bed for her to know your usual?”
I snort and sit back in my chair. “You sound awfully jealous for someone who claims they want nothing to do with me.”
I glance up when Kiera dances her way back to our table with a pot of coffee and two fresh mugs. I wait, silent and wide-legged enough to annoy my breakfast companion, then I smile for Kiera when she’s done and watch her walk away to put our order in with the cooks.
“She’s still pretty happy, considering I used and discarded her.” I bring my gaze back to Minka. “No?”
“No doubt you have a way of convincing people you’re a good person. What’s your story, Malone? What do you want from me?”
“Well, those are two different questions.” I pause. “And one wild inference. I want nothing from you except your time and attention.”
“Neither of which I wish to give.”
“Still prickly.” I chuckle. “We’ve had two nights together, and still, you’re so prickly.” Shaking my head, I lounge back and pick up my coffee. “What do you think my story is?”
“Boy scout who wants to be a bad boy.” She says it quickly, without thought, and makes me hum with desire.
She’s already spent countless hours thinking about me.
“You come from a standard two-parent household,” she continues. “Middle-class enough never to be hungry, you had nice clothes and whatnot, but you weren’t so well off that you had extra homes or staff or yearly vacations. You always wanted to be the cool guy, the tough guy, but you never really had that edge the street kids did. So once you left high school and jumped into the police academy, you started acting hard and like you’ve seen some shit.”
She picks up her coffee and inhales the scent. “And I’m the first person in your new life to call you out and see past the veneer of a good boy pretending to be bad.”
“Nice.” I slide my tongue along my bottom lip and smirk at the way her eyes follow the movement. She doesn’t want to be attracted to me—and she sure as hell doesn’t want that attraction shoved in her face—but here I am anyway, the good little boy scout readying to wreck her fantasies. “Do you often theorize a person’s entire backstory before ever actually getting to know them?”
