Her head whips around, then the rest of her turns to face me.
My eyes rake over her tiny form.
She’s in jeans again, tight on her hips and legs. Her red shirt dips low in the front to reveal a generous amount of cleavage. And on her feet, runners, an old pair of Nike’s.
Her hair is up, pulled back into a dark, messy knot, with a few pieces framing her face.
She raises an eyebrow. She looks agitated. “What are you doing here? Did you follow me?”
I almost laugh at her suggestion, but decide against it when she shows no sign of her question being a joke.
“What? No, I like coffee. I’m here for coffee. This was purely a coincidence.” I take a step toward her. “You left last night. I wanted to talk to you.”
“Talk,” she laughs. “There’s that word again. Did you have fun talking after I left?”
My brow furrows. “Uh . . . to who?”
She eliminates the space between us. Her hand flattens against my chest as she stands on her toes to get as close to my ear as possible. I inhale her perfume. Some sort of berry scent. It’s light and sweet.
“Did you finish getting off after I was gone?” she whispers.
My hands form to her hips. I drop my head, brushing my lips against her hair. “Yeah. I had to.”
“Mm. So did I. You were amazing in my head. I came all over my fingers.”
“Fuck,” I groan. Not meaning to, my fingers squeeze her hips, hard enough to possibly bruise her. I move my hands to her back.
God, she feels good against me.
“Me too. I . . .” My words trail off.
Am I really doing this? Am I about to confess to this woman how hard I came last night in the middle of a fucking coffee shop?”
She leans back to look up at me. “It’s a shame we couldn’t have handled that shit together. A damn shame.” She slaps her hand against my chest and spins back around, leaving me reeling.
I grab her elbow. I’m not done with this conversation. “Hey.”
“What?” Her voice sounds distant. She barely turns her head to acknowledge me.
The bloke behind the counter carries over four coffees before I can get her attention again.
“Here you go, Brooke. Sorry about the wait.”
She steps forward. I move quickly to grab the carrier, being sure not to completely shove her out of the way in the process. Only the side of my arm bumps against hers.
“I got these. Did you pay?” I ask, reaching blindly with my other hand for my wallet.
“What?” Eyebrows pinched together in confusion, she tries to grab the carrier. Her height difference from mine doesn’t allow for it. She really is tiny without those heels.
With an exasperated huff, she jumps with her hand in the air. “Yes, I paid. And can you give me that please, you big tree?”
“I said I got it. Come on.”
“Come on? I thought you were getting coffee.”
I shrug, looking down at her. “I’ll come back.”
Her hand slaps against her thigh. With a shake of her head, she moves toward the door. “Fine. But there’s a crack in the sidewalk and I’m not going to tell you where it is. If you fall, that’s on you.”
I stifle my laugh, following behind. “Fair enough.”
We walk side by side on the busy footpath. People move in a blur around us. Brooke keeps her arms tightly crossed against her chest and her gaze locked ahead of her. Mine wanders between the path ahead and her profile.
“How tall are you?” I ask, breaking up the silence after only standing it for a whole ten seconds.
She looks over at me. “I don’t know. 5’2”, I think. Why?”
“Just curious. You threw me off with your shoes the other day, when we first met.”
“Mm.” She turns her head.
My mouth curls up in the corner. “You were right about blue balls. Bloody awful, that was. I thought I was dying.”
A small laugh erupts from her. She quickly conceals it with a cough. “Well, that was all your doing.”
“Actually, it’s yours. I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“Thinking about me,” she repeats, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “But, you don’t want to do anything with me. You turned me down.”
“I want to do a lot with you.”
I wait until she glances in my direction before I continue. Her eyes slowly reach mine.
“A lot, Brooke. You have no idea how much I’ve thought about doing things with you. I just want to know you first. Spend some time with you. Like this. I like talking to you.”
“Crack.”
“What’s that?”
She points ahead of us. “Crack. Right there. Watch out.”
I look down, careful to step over the jagged edge of the concrete that protrudes a good five centimeters from the flat plane.
Fuck. That would’ve been one hell of a fall.
“I thought you weren’t going to warn me,” I ask through a grin.
She shrugs. “I don’t feel like going back for more coffee. You would’ve spilled it.”
“Ah, okay. I thought maybe it was because you care about my well-being, or something. My mistake.”
She stops walking. I look back over my shoulder.
“What is it?”
“Are you married? Is that it?”
Confusion pulls my brows together. “Do you think I’m married?”
When have I given her the impression that I was married?