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“Who?”
“Brin. Brinleigh. BrinleighWright. Queen of this establishment.”
“Home for the night.”
I scowled back at her. “She never leaves early.”
“Welp, she does when she’s nine months along and has help.”
“Doeshelphave a name?”
“Sure do.”
“Gonna share it?”
“Mmmm, that’s a solid nope, big guy. Can I get you something? Most of our customers aren’t quite so prepared and pay for their refreshments.”
I jostled the bag, pulling out the generous wedge of coffee cake, my mouth instantly watering at the cinnamon smell of the crumble. With a groan, I mumbled, “Fuckingangel.”
“Fresh out of celestial entities, but I’ve got coffee and tea.” The tempting little woman popped a hip, staring back at me expectantly. Somebody had her armor on today. Couldn’t exactly blame her.
“So,” I hedged, curiosity getting the better of my common sense. Ignoring her question was likely in the same ballpark as poking a bear, but I couldn’t help myself. “You’re friends with Brex?” When she just blinked back at me, I asked, “I assume you’re the friend Rhyett told me about. You two meet in school?” This was the moment of truth.
“Yeah, when we were little kids. She’s been my ride-or-die since kindergarten.”
I chuckled, nodding as reality set in. Well, fuck me. She waseightyears younger than me. Hell, she was younger than my baby sisters, Hadlee and Alessandra, who’d felt alifetimeaway growing up. Not all of us could toss aside our morals when we spotted long legs and a pretty smile. Shame. Axel would have better odds.
“Certainly explains the fashion choices.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She quirked her head, tousled curls bouncing and begging for a man to run his fingers through them.
Seven years ago, you could have called her jailbait, you nimrod.
“Did you borrow that outfit from a mannequin?”
She glanced down at her clothes before scowling back up at me. “Aren’t youjust charming? Did you get off the boat and take a crash course in fashion?”
“I don’t need a crash course to recognize a walking billboard for some overpriced city-slicker brand.”
“There is nothing wrong with my outfit.” She deadpanned.
Of course not. Not in Tampa, not somewhere about forty degrees warmer with a longboard on a college campus. Not if she was five or six years older, and that incessant buzzing in my hands could actually be satisfied when I slipped them under that skimpy scrap of fabric. As she lifted her chin, I swear to God her nipples hardened when I looked her over.
“Your little tube tops don’t exactly scream practical inMistyvale, now do they?”
“Please, at least I’m not afraid to embrace the times. Show a little personality instead of marching around like an unfrosted Pop-Tart. You look like the Bounty paper towel guy but with less flavor. Don’t you know flannel shirts went out of style last century?”
I chuckled when Axel did, holding her gaze. If Brexley was Rhyett’s ‘firecracker’, this woman was the whole damn box of dynamite. The sparks were right there as she quirked her head, cocky expectation in her eyes.
Okay, yeah, I liked shit simple. Simple black Henley’s or T-shirts. Simple flannel. Simple rain gear. Practical layers for a life spent on the harbor. So what?
“Flannel has character. Your clothes look like you swallowed a rainbow.”
The woman burst out laughing, those long lashes batting as her eyes lazily roamed the length of me. “Let me guess,Wolverine. Your favorite color is grayscale?”
“What’s wrong with that,Skittles? It’s classic,” I countered as Maverick choked on what I could only assume was a laugh.
“Classic? If you say so. Exciting? Not so much. I prefer some vibrancy to my world. Keeps it interesting.”
