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“Just trying to be comfortable,” I mumble, thrown off by this change in him. The determined glint in his eyes makes me a bit nervous. “I got a job at the bookstore,” I say, loud enough for everyone to hear. Isaiah smirks knowingly, but I move around him toward the kitchen chairs. Halfway between the four men.
“The one next to the bar?” Zach confirms, and I nod, taking a sip of my drink.
“Elijah owns it now, right? Caroline’s brother?” Anton asks.
“Yes. I’ve been helping him, so he can hopefully get it opened for business. As it is right now, it’s a bit chaotic,” I admit.
“His sister got sick only a couple of months after she bought it. I don’t think she even told her family until a couple of weeks before she passed. She was taken a few hours away to a bigger hospital,” Anton says sadly. I had suspected as much. Tragic. Heartbreaking, honestly.
“You can always work as a barista if you get bored with the books,” Jer teases, and I stick my tongue out at him.
“I could never get bored with books. Though it would be fun to collaborate with you for the grand opening. Hopefully, draw people in…” I mutter the last bit as I start silently planning.
“Anything you want, hotcakes.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR
After that, the days pass peacefully.
I work at the store five days a week, and Elijah brings me coffee every morning. On Fridays, after work, I head to the twins' café and chat with them as they fill me with cookies and coffee.
On the weekends, Anton and Isaiah come over to work on the cottage, and before I know it, three months have passed.
“I think we should plan a grand opening for two weeks from today. It’ll be close enough to Christmas that people will still be searching for gifts, but not so close that no one will have any money left,” I say as I approach Elijah in his office. “I can set up something between the coffee shop and bakery. Something to draw in a crowd. Free food and coffee?” I chuckle, leaning against the door. Elijah is pushing a box to a shelf above his desk, and as he stretches, his shirt lifts, giving me a peep of his toned skin.
I swallow hard, averting my eyes, and scolding myself.
Isaiah has been…courting me? There’s no other way to describe it. He sends gifts and flowers. Sends flirty looks my way whenever he catches me staring. Makes me dinner at least once a week and listens to me talk about whatever book I’m reading for hours without complaint.
But he keeps his hands, and lips, to himself, much to my disappointment. Then there are the twins. Jer is outright flirtatious, making me laugh until I cry and my abs ache. Zach is more subtle. Slipping in sexy little comments every chance he gets in that deep, husky voice.
And Anton? He is…taking care of me. Making sure I have everything I need. Checking in constantly to ask how I’m feeling. And the little head kisses? Fuuuuck. It’s torture.
And on days like today, when I’m in this tiny office, so close to my very off-limits boss? His cologne is like an aphrodisiac. My pussy clenches, begging me to put us out of our misery.
I’ve never been so fucking horny in my life!
“Sapphire?” Elijah chuckles, drawing my attention to his face as he steps up to me.
“Sorry, I, uh, zoned out?” Terrible excuse. True enough though. I’m going to leave out the desperately horny for him part, though.
He stuffs both hands into the front pockets of his jeans and shrugs, leaning against the same wall. The space between us is shrinking, and my mind is scrambled like eggs. Very horny eggs. I realize he’s said something else I missed, and I shake my head.
“Sorry.” I cringe.
“Why do I feel like I’m being objectified?” he teases, and my eyes go wide, and I take a step back.
“Shit, sorry. Was I that obvious? Please forgi–” Whatever I was going to say is mercifully interrupted when Elijah wraps his arm around my waist, preventing my retreat.
“Would it make you feel better if I said I’ve been objectifying you since the moment I met you?” His smirk is mischievous, and seeing him so relaxed has me forgetting all the reasons I should stop whatever this is before it even starts.
“Yes,” I lick my lips, looking up at him shyly.
“Should we establish a dress code? No more tight pants and muscle-revealing shirts for me, and no more sinfully short skirts for you?” The hand not wrapped around my waist drops to my thigh, tracing the line of my skirt.
“That would be for the best,” I nod, and I see the look of disappointment flash in his eyes, but I continue. “If I wasn’t so unbelievably attracted to you that it makes me dizzy every time you walk into a room.”
His eyes cloud with lust, and he grips me tighter, pulling me flush against him.
