Page 40 of Naked Coffee Guy

“But how?”

Mac hands me my coffee, and I hold it but don’t sip. “I’ve been to your work, Maren, and they have a phone. So, I called it.”

“And they accepted that?” I have not called out in ages. None of us do since there really isn’t adequate coverage. Plus, the few times I have, Susan gave me such hell it wasn’t even worth the hassle. “Who did you even speak with?”

“Someone named Nina.”

Oh, that explains it.

“And she didn’t ask where I was?”

He laughed. “No, but I don’t think she believed me either. She told me she got this, and that you’re to text her as soon as you’re feeling up to it.”

I dive for my phone, half expecting to see a dozen calls from Susan. But there’s only one text, and it’s from Nina.

Nina: Good for you, finally getting some dick. Hope it’s good!

I grin, tuck the phone away, and I finally sip my coffee—rather, a latte—and it’s fucking phenomenal.

“Hold on,” I say, lowering my cup. “Why did you go to Insomniacs if your coffee tastes like this?” I take another sip, then shake my head. “Ours sucks compared this. What did you do, roast your beans in your own private roastery?”

He snorts into his own coffee, the usual black I remember from the other day. I can’t help wondering how many shots of espresso are in there. Judging by the bulge in his gray sweatpants…I’d say four. “Sure, right after I picked them from the coffee tree.” He finally gets in a sip, then nods. “Yeah, that’s good shit. I have it special ordered, plus I have a built-in espresso machine in the kitchen.”

I roll my eyes. “Of course you do. But that doesn’t answer my question as to why you’d buy overpriced crap coffee when you have the real thing at home?”

“Because you were there.”

“And you knew this, how?” I grab a piece of bacon and start nibbling at it as I wait for an answer. He has a kind of boyish grin on his face, as if he’s just been caught in the cookie jar and is going to eat the cookie anyways.

“Because there was a little blue Honda outside with a hand sized dent on the hood. I matched it up to my hand, and the dent fit. So I had to go inside to see if my Miss Charming was there.”

Before I can react, he’s swooped me back into his bed. “And you, my sweet thing, are driving me crazy with that hot little body of yours, all ready for the taking.”

“But I haven’t finished my breakfast!” I protest. He pulls away, then gives me a pointed look.

“Would you like to eat, or would you like to fuck and then eat?”

I take a long look at his muscular body, the way his chest tapers down to his lean belly, and a happy dusting of hair that leads to the bulge under his sweatpants. He has a delicious smirk on his bearded face, and it makes me want to lick him all over.

I don’t answer him, but I do leap up and tackle him to the bed. This time, he doesn’t play that whole alpha bullshit. We take turns taking each other, tearing up that huge, oversized bed as we explore each other the entire morning.

A few hours later—fully satiated on sex, coffee, and bacon—we lay in the tangled sheets while I lazily watch the ocean outside.

“You’re probably so used to this,” I say, unable to tear my eyes away.

“Not at all,” he answers. I turn to face him, ready to learn more. We really don’t know much about each other except for this crazy connection we can’t avoid. He’s given me his life story in bits and pieces, and I’ve held him at arm’s length this entire time. But now I’m curious.

“You say this is all new to you. I know you were an orphan before, but surely this wasn’t an overnight development. I mean, you’ve had to have lived a life of luxury for years now. You said Benji took you in at fifteen, right? And you’re, what, thirty?”

“Thirty-five,” he says, “So yeah, it’s been twenty years since I’ve been a no-good thief.”

I sit up, suddenly very interested.

“All right, Mac Dermot. Spill the beans. Tell me everything.”

And he does—or at least, as much as he can in a short amount of time. I already knew that he lived in an orphanage then ran away. What I didn’t know is that he cased and robbed houses to survive the streets.

“Back then I was this scrawny, toe-headed kid with a baby face who got caught up with a group of older boys ready to use me to their advantage. No one expected a thing. I’d go door-to-door selling magazine subscriptions, or so they thought. If a house looked interesting, we’d watch it for a few days, and if there was no obvious security system, we’d break in and grab what we wanted. It worked like a charm. That is until Benji.”