I puff out a breath and head toward Charles Street where my favorite café is.
The bell dings overhead as I enter the shop, and like a Pavlovian response, I instantly start salivating over the scent of brewing coffee and freshly baked croissants. My gaze flitters about the shop before landing on the chalkboard over the register, mulling over what exactly I feel like for breakfast when an arm comes out of nowhere, wrapping snuggly around my waist and spinning me in place. My reflexes snap into action and before I even know what I’m doing, my fist whips out, cracking the person in the stomach.
A loud, “Ow,” cuts out and the arm drops from my waist only to clutch his stomach. “Jesus, Angel. You throw one hell of a sucker punch.”
“Oh my god. I’m so sorry,” I squawk, grabbing Brecken’s shoulder and checking his face. “Are you okay? Can you breathe?”
“I’m fine. Thanks,” he grumbles, rubbing his abdomen and throwing me a side-eye. “I think I might throw up but other than that, I’m peachy.”
Despite feeling just a smidge bad, I’m smiling like crazy. “Wow. I’ve never punched anyone before outside of the gym or sparring with my brothers. Never for real at least. That was oddly satisfying.”
“Thanks,” he deadpans. “So glad I could make your morning.”
“Well, don’t sneak up on unsuspecting women and put your arm around them. This is a city after all, Brecken. You have no idea how many creeps like you I’ve come in contact with over the years.”
“Creeps like me?” he barks out incredulously though he’s unable to fight back the smile that curls up the corner of his lips. “Christ, woman, you’re brutal for my ego. All I was trying to do was say hi.”
I shake my head. “Hi involves words. You were getting frisky.”
“Okay,” he concedes. “I might have been putting on a move. But I wasn’t expecting to see you in here this morning, and I was caught off guard by your blinding beauty. Did you know when the light shines in on your hair it glows brighter than the sun?”
I roll my eyes at his mocking tone as I take him in. He’s wearing jeans and a dark green tee. Casual. Like me. “Don’t you work? It’s Friday.”
“I start Monday. I have one more weekend of freedom.”
“You know, I don’t think I know what you do.”
He grins. “That’s because you never asked. I’m an investment banker.”
“Huh,” I muse, sizing him up. “One of those guys. And what are you doing here?”
His grin turns impish as he steps into me, moving me up the line with his hand on my lower back, but keeping me close even after he releases me. “I live four blocks from here.”
“You do?”
“Yup. I live in Beacon Hill too, babe. Only a few streets over from you as a matter of fact and before you accuse me of obsessively stalking, I obviously wasn’t aware you lived not only here in this city, but in my hood, when I picked the place out.”
He has absolutely no idea of the definition behind obsessively stalking. But that’s beside the point. I’m stuck on the fact that he lives a few blocks from me. That’s some seriously bad news that makes my stomach flutter in the most annoying of ways.
“This is my coffee shop though. You can’t have it.”
He chuckles, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck which makes his ridiculous biceps bulge. I catch the black ink on the inside of his arm, but he lowers it too quickly for me to make out what it is. An arrow, I think?
“Lucky for me this is a public establishment, and I don’t have to ask your permission on what I can and cannot have.” He eyes me up and down with that stupid, cocky grin. “Well, I guess there is one thing I have to ask permission for.”
Ugh. “Does that crap really work for you?”
“It worked on you not so long ago. Don’t hate the player when you secretly love his game.”
“Didn’t you just tell me last night that you’re not actually a player?”
“Glad you were listening.”
I snicker under my breath, leaving it at that because this man is just maddening. And his lines that should totally make me go ick don’t. Because he says them with a charming smile and dimples pressed into his cheeks and he’s way too hot for anyone’s sanity.
We step up in line and he motions for me to go first so I order myself a large coffee with two shots of espresso since I slept for shit and a bacon, egg, and cheese because I just counted the number of steps I took to get up to the counter and I haven’t done something like that in well over a year now and in some crazy twist of fate, the arrogant asshole on my left makes me want to throw the rule book out the window every time he drags his blue eyes over me.
So yeah, bacon and caffeine are in order.
Brecken proceeds to order before I can even attempt to pay. Once he’s done, he hands her fifty dollars and tells her to keep the change. The barista’s eyes widen in amazement and she drops the change—something close to twenty-five dollars—in the tip jar on the counter.
“You’re big with the tipping, aren’t you?” I note. He did the same thing last night with the waitress in The Hill.
“I worked as a bartender in college. Tips are life and I consider it good karma to pay it forward now that I make a decent living.”
I can’t even argue that because I actually respect it.
“This is like a date, you know. Like a first date. I just bought you coffee at your favorite coffee shop. Total date material.” His hand hits my lower back again as he leads me to the front of the café to wait for our food and coffee. Away from the curious ears of the barista, who was openly ogling him. Something I’m guessing most ovary-carrying women do on a regular basis.
“Didn’t we decide last night that this was not only a bad idea but not happening?”
“We did. But it’s just us here and if I didn’t know you and I walked into this café and saw you, there is no way I wouldn’t have approached you and tried to get you to go out with me.”
“I thought you told me you don’t approach women. Ever.”
“And clearly you’re my exception. Still.”
“Brecken…” I blow out a small breath, out of sorts and already losing my bearings with this man. And that. That right there. That’s not good. Because I might have said yes. Like I did that night in New York.
Since he wrapped his arm around my waist, he’s monopolized my entire focus. Nothing else has existed but him and our banter and the way he makes me feel. Sexy and desirable. And god, how long has it been since a man has done that for me?
Feels like forever.
Or maybe you just need to get laid. With someone other than your friend’s brother. Right. Could be that too. The problem with Brecken is that he’s Brecken. If he weren’t, I might indulge a bit. I never open myself up. I never stay long enough to make a connection. But with him, the connection is already there when it shouldn’t be.
That alone is reason to stay away.
“Where were you planning to eat?” he asks after a silent moment.
I shrug, glancing around because for a Friday, the café is overflowing with people and there are no available places to sit.