Page 33 of Naked Coffee Guy

She takes in a deep inhale, and I know she’s thinking about our night together. I am too. The way her back arched while my mouth tasted every inch of her. The soft moan in the back of her throat as she pulled me closer. How her hips met me thrust for thrust.

Maren is calculated to a T. I saw it from the moment I first saw her, and now that she’s in my orbit, I know it for sure. I could have let her have her way last night, but I also knew she was treating me like any other fuck. Another wall. Her way of keeping me at arm’s length. But she’ll soon find out, I’m not any other fuck.

I told her this was casual. What a fucking lie.

We walk back to Breakers, but she draws the line at joining me and Ms. Crawford while we finish the transaction. I can feel Maren’s eyes on me as I take my seat.

“Everything okay?” Amanda asks, sneaking a glance in Maren’s direction.

“Yes,” I say, not bothering to explain myself. To her credit, Amanda waited a good thirty minutes in this restaurant while I convinced Maren I wasn’t fucking someone else. But then again, this brooch is worth waiting for. I pull it out of my jacket pocket and open the box, allowing her a closer look. Amanda leaves the box on the table and uses a magnifying glass to get a closer look. While she studies the piece, I peek in Maren’s direction, who quickly averts her eyes. She takes a sudden interest in her phone, and I know she’s dying to keep watching us. It must kill her to play it so uncool when I know she’s used to being in control. She finally does look, and the embarrassed grin she flashes at me is enough to make me want to rush this sale so I can show Maren exactly what she does to me.

Amanda is now on the phone, and I tear my eyes away from Maren as she talks with her boss. When she hangs up, she’s smiling.

“We’ll take it,” she says, pulling an envelope from her purse. I open it, my face a damn glacier as I take in the amount on the check that once felt like Monopoly money. Even now, it’s not a small number. $1.2 million for a piece of metal and some precious jewels. It just might be enough to undo some of the old man’s sins.

Amanda and I both rise. She shakes my hand, sealing the deal, then leans forward and offers a small kiss on my cheek. When she leans back, there’s something different in her eyes. A question. She glances at Maren, then back at me, and the corner of her mouth turns up.

“Maybe we can meet again sometime, when you’re not…” she glances at Maren again, “Preoccupied.” She offers a meaningful look. “I don’t run.”

I flex my jaw, knowing that Maren is seeing this entire exchange. I feel like an idiot for missing the signs.

“Goodbye, Amanda,” I say, dismissing her proposition. She smiles again, but this time with unspoken understanding. There will not be another meeting. Not for business, nor for any other reason.

She leads the way from the restaurant, and from the back I can see the slight glance she shoots toward Maren. But my girl doesn’t give her the time of day. She looks past Amanda, settling her wary gaze on me.

“Are you ready to go?” I guide her to her feet. She pauses, as if to mull something over. Then she lifts her hand and brushes her thumb over my cheek where Amanda kissed me.

“I never want to see another woman’s lipstick on any part of your body,” she says, and I can’t help but laugh.

“You better wear lipstick tonight, because it’s your red lips I want all over my body.”

And goddamn, the look in her eyes rumbles through me and straight to my cock. She’s like a drug, and I’ve barely had a taste. I need this woman in my bed tonight, and every night after.

“You should probably work on your persuasion skills,” she teases, then slips her hand into mine before I lead her from the bar.

Once outside, she shivers as the cold air meets her bare arms. Her jacket is hanging over her purse, and she starts to unfold it when I stop her.

“Turn around,” I command. Her eyes sparkle, and I have the feeling she’s secretly enjoying when I order her around, as she complies without argument. I slide the sleeves over her arms, running my hand across her skin as I do, then rest at her collarbone. I lean forward, my lips brushing against her ear.

“Let’s get out of here,” I whisper. She nods and starts to turn, but she freezes as her eyes settle on a group of people across the way. Four guys and one girl.

“Lydia,” she breathes.

Chapter Thirteen

Maren

Lydia was nine the last time I saw her in person, but I’ve seen her photo on Instagram enough times to know it’s her. It also doesn’t take a scientist to see she’s blitzed out of her mind. She’s clutching a bottle in a paper bag while stumbling in her platform boots, and I wonder if our father saw how short her skirt was when she left the house. He surely wouldn’t approve of the guys hanging around her. But I’m not really worried about what my father would think, I’m worried about the position Lydia is in as I see the guys pass her the bottle again, catching eyes above her head.

Years ago, before I got sober, I was Lydia. I felt like the sexiest girl in the world as I hung out with some guys who were years older than me. We’d just done a few lines of coke, and they were awfully generous with a bottle of whiskey they were passing around. I don’t remember much about that night, but I do know that when I woke up the next morning behind a dumpster near some apartments, my underwear was missing, there were bruises on my arms and thighs, and I had a deep pain in my groin that lasted for days. More than anger and fear, I felt completely stupid. I knew better. You don’t live on the streets and not see stuff. I knew what happened to girls who let down their defenses. And I’d done just that—trusted a bunch of guys I barely knew only to be violated. I was so ashamed that I didn’t give details when I got tested at the free clinic, and I was lucky I didn’t get pregnant or any STDs.

Now I’m seeing the same scene unfold in front of me, but it’s my sister, and these guys are purposely getting her drunk.

“Lydia!” I tear myself from Mac’s arms as her name falls loudly from my mouth. She turns around as I stalk in her direction. For a moment, I see the lack of clarity as she tries to figure out who I am. And then it washes over her, followed by a sneer that too closely resembles a look I’ve seen on my father’s face.

I don’t wait for her to talk, instead I grab her arm and pull her away. She tries to fight me off, but her drunk ass can barely form a sentence.

“Who the fuck are you?” One of the guys takes a menacing step toward me, but Mac is between us in an instant, his hand like a vice around the guy’s throat.