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Then it struck him. She wasn’t wearing her glasses, and she was all made up. He hardly ever noticed Hannah wearing any makeup, but this morning, smoky eyeliner and mascara highlighted her hazel eyes, making the golden flecks pop. Her lips were a glossy rose color, hardly noticeable, except Blake had been studying Hannah for the better part of a year and knew every feature by heart. The round, rosy cheeks, the delicate curve of her lips, the fan of her lashes. Hannah came over in her yellow uniform, the white apron tied around her curvy waist, and his palms started sweating as he gripped the table. Her uniform stretched across her ample chest, and the little skirt flared out over her rounded hips, which seemed to be rolling seductively as she walked.
Blake’s jaw was hanging down so far, he could practically feel it resting on his chest. He’d always known Hannah was pretty, but right now, she looked like a pot of honey ready to be licked clean.
An image of his tongue running along Hannah’s neck made his cock twitch against the light fabric of his running pants. Shit, that was all he needed; sporting wood while she bent over to fill his coffee. With his luck, she’d probably notice, and then he’d be really fucked.
She set down a mug of black coffee and a tall glass of ice water without being asked, her gaze never leaving his face. “Hey there. You feeling okay today, or do you need me to have Kenny whip you up his hangover cure?”
Blake’s mouth snapped closed. How the hell did she know he was hungover?
“What makes you think I’m hungover?” He took a long gulp of his water, draining the glass. Had her uniform always molded so nicely to her curves?
She cocked her head to the side, her brow furrowed. “You called me last night. Don’t you remember?”
His heart picked up speed, and he set the glass away, wrapping his fingers around the coffee mug instead. Almost immediately he realized his palms were slick with sweat. He had called Hannah last night? Fuck, what the hell had he said?
Clearing his throat, he mumbled, “I’m sorry about that. I don’t even remember doing it.”
For a second, she appeared almost crestfallen, and his throat closed up as he racked his brain for any memory of their conversation.
But as fleeting as the look was, it was soon replaced by a reassuring smile and a pat on his shoulder.
“It’s okay, you just said hi and immediately passed out. If I’d known where you lived, I probably would have driven over to check on you.” Her expression was overly bright, and he knew she was lying. “I’ll just go put your order in.”
As she walked away, Blake’s gaze dropped to her ass, and he watched the sway of that teasing yellow skirt, mesmerized.
Shaking himself out of the lust-filled trance, he tried to remember what in the hell he’d said last night on the phone, but he could hardly recall leaving the bar. Just bits and pieces.
She kept her back to him, and he realized it was a view he’d probably never get tired of. Hannah had a really nice, round butt.
Daddy like.
The words flew through his mind like an echo, and he grimaced.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Chapter Four
STUPID, STUPID, STUPID.
Hannah wasn’t a bold, brazen flirt and never had been. She’d had an awful stutter growing up and often found it was easier not to talk than it was to listen to other kids taunt her.
As an adult, she would have patted herself on the back for being so cool about a completely awkward situation, if she wasn’t so horrified. She’d spent half the morning daydreaming of what he’d say when he saw her, her makeup on point, her glasses nowhere to be seen, and her hair loose like he’d never seen it. For a moment, he’d looked at her so strangely, she’d thought maybe he really did have feelings for her.
But clearly that had just been her naiveté at work. Her face burned, and she was so glad she had her back to him. The last thing she wanted was for Blake to see how embarrassed she was for actually thinking a drunk dial from a man meant something.
Kenny put the plate of food up on the counter and rang the bell. “Wake up, sunshine. Your order is ready.”
Hannah laughed as she grabbed the plate. Kenny was in his midfifties and was always calling her names like sunshine and sweetie pie, but she didn’t take offense. She knew he wasn’t making a pass at her; that was just how he talked to everyone. He was like the sweet Southern waitress who called everyone hon, only he was a man with a gray ponytail who could make a mean Denver omelet.
“Thanks. I think I need more coffee,” she said.
“I think you just got a little too much of that on your brain.” Kenny pointed his spatula past her to where Blake was sitting, and her cheeks heated once more.
“Stop that,” she hissed, walking away from his laughter. As she approached Blake, she knew that Kenny was right. Her appreciation for his hazel eyes and broad shoulders had slowly turned into real feelings with every exchange they had. She knew about his work, about his day-to-day activities and the way he took his coffee . . .
But what do I really know about Blake? His life? His family? Isn’t that something friends should discuss?
Hannah had created a whole fantasy about this guy. She’d imagined herself as this wonderful, sweet friend to him, when really, she was just the girl who brought him his coffee.
