Two Brutes, One Barista: An Alaskan Romantic Comedy (Alaskan Romance Book 3)

by Shaye Marlow

  The buddy was slight and excitable, with mousy blond hair, wire-rimmed glasses, and patches on his elbows. I heard the word ‘gigantopithecus’ a few times, and he seemed to be making recommendations for the housing and feeding of an ape.

  “That’s a good point, Charlie. We’ll discuss it during the meeting tonight, okay?” Widow’s Peak said, mollifying his eccentric buddy with what appeared to be the ease of long practice. He took his coffee, and flicked me a couple ones.

  I maintained my smile, and directed it at the next man in line. “And for you?

  This one wore a sweater vest over a sweater over several extra pounds, and his graying brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. “Breve,” he said, digging through his wallet.

  I pulled the carton of half and half out of the fridge, and started steaming it. “You all here for Bigfoot?” I asked, speaking loudly over the jet-engine roar of the steam wand and the gathering rumble of voices.

  They just kept pouring in. The tables and chairs were full, and the line had just graduated to stretching out the door. Maybe I should’ve knocked on wood when I’d mentioned not being busy to J.D. yesterday.

  “Yes.” He untied the jacket from around his waist and shrugged into it.

  I eyed him with amusement. “You must be from somewhere warm.”

  “Florida,” he said, finally looking at me.

  I poured the hot half and half in, then pulled his shots.

  “That’s a nice bracelet.” His eyes were on the knotted rope around my wrist. Not the first thing men usually noticed, but okay.

  “It’s one of those rescue cords,” I said, setting his drink in front of him.

  “It looks good on you.” The intensity of his gaze had become slightly uncomfortable.

  I made his change, then looked gladly to the next in line.

  “Latte,” the guy said impatiently. “Grande.”

  Instead of giving him sass about that not being our word for medium, I made him a 16 oz. “Are you all together?” I asked. I’d never seen the coffee shop this full.

  “We’re with the National Bigfoot Hunters Association.”

  “Where are you all staying?”

  The next customer, a woman almost as short as Suzy, stepped up to answer. “They didn’t have accommodations for a group this big anywhere,” she said. “Barely had two rooms available on the whole river. We wound up renting some land upriver, and set up camp. It’s not ideal, but it is on this side—where all the sightings have been—so we’ll make do.” She gave me a smile. “Chai, please.”

  “How many sightings have there been now?” I asked.

  “Four.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yes. We’re very excited.”

  A gap opened up behind her, and I glimpsed J.D. standing in the doorway.

  “Just a second, sorry,” I told her, and waved to him over her head. “Can you come back later?” I called over the hubbub.

  His head tilted. What? he mouthed.

  “Come back at one,” I said, speaking even louder.

  He nodded, and the gap closed, and I was left with a crowd that I swore got weirder with every drink I served.

  That afternoon, I reached the wedged-open door of the coffee shop just as J.D. did.

  A smile overtook my face at seeing him. “Hi,” I said. “You’re wearing a shirt!”

  “I am,” he agreed, moving back as I emerged.

  I locked the door and turned back to him. “I have a proposition for you.”

  His brows climbed. “Go on.”

  “We were discussing payment for my services.”

  “Yes,” he said cautiously.

  “So, I was thinking, I’d like to go hiking. But, everyone I talk to says I shouldn’t go alone, a bear’ll eat me. I don’t know my way around this place,” I continued, “and I don’t have a gun, so I thought maybe you…”

  He was watching me talk, his eyes drifting from mine to my hair—which seemed particularly bent on escape today—to my fluttering sleeves and back, a little smile on his face.

  “Well, I thought maybe you’d like to take me, be the honor guard. I want to go uphill a bit, just be gone an hour or two. What do you think?” Finished with my delivery, I held my breath and crossed my fingers.

  His eyes had narrowed slightly with what looked like suspicion. “When?”

  “Um… now? The weather’s perfect. I was thinking I could just get changed and we could go. Then when we get back, I can work on your shoulder.”

  I had no idea what was going through his head, but his brow smoothed. “Okay.”

  Yes! “Do you have a gun?”

  “Do I have a gun.” He laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I have access to a selection of guns.”

  “And you’ll go with me? You really don’t mind?”

  “I really will, and I really don’t.”

  “Yay!” I pulled an excited Suzy, only stopping when I realized I’d drawn J.D.’s gaze to my bouncing chest. My cheeks heated. “Well… okay then,” I said. “Meet back at my place? It’s the cabin farthest back, the one with the green roof.”

  About a quarter hour later, I stepped outside pulling a camera strap over my head.

  J.D. was waiting for me, leaning casually against my railing. He straightened as I appeared, his gaze sweeping from my head, down to my toes. I wore a flannel shirt and heavy jeans, but you couldn’t tell it by the heat in his gaze.

  Hands tucked in his pockets, eyes shuttered, rifle barrel protruding over one shoulder, he was a study in black. I wondered if everything he owned was that color. Don’t get me wrong; he looked good in it, owned it. But… I wondered what a blue shirt would do for those electric eyes.

  I came down the steps, very aware of his proximity. “Ready?”

  “For anything,” he agreed, a hint of a smile curving his lips.

  “Good.” I took the ball cap out from under my arm and put it on, and then found the opening of the mosquito head net. I pulled it over my hat and hair, tucked it into my collar, spritzed my hands with mosquito repellant, then grinned up at him. “Me, too.”

  He nodded. “Lead on.”

  “Over here. I found this trail when I first got here.” I led him to the faint track leading to the outhouse, and then beyond, into the woods.

  “You’ve taken this before?” he asked.

  “Ah, I just went a little ways—never let the buildings out of sight. Besides the bears, everyone keeps warning me how easy it is to get lost in the woods.” The forest floor was soft underfoot, covered in clumps of moss, tiny ferns, and other low-growing plants I didn’t have a name for. I loved the ones with the little pink bells.

  “Well, we’ve got hills ahead of us, river behind. If you ever get lost, just head downhill till you find the river. The mountains are a good landmark, too, if you can get a view of them.”

  We walked for a few minutes, twigs crunching underfoot. At least, twigs crunched under my feet. I had to keep looking back to make sure J.D. was there. He was like a shadow sliding between the trees, dark and silent.

  He caught my eye. “Did Wreck come back?”

  I blinked. “Who?”

  “Pierre,” he explained. “He said he was going to drop by and tell you about the Bigfoot sightings.”

  “Oh! Oh, yes. He did. He belongs to the Bigfoot Field Research Organization. Apparently, they send someone to investigate the more promising reports.”

  “This one was promising?”

  “Yes. There’ve been a few sightings now, and Pierre says they seem legit. All within the last couple nights, all on this side of the river.”

  “Huh. What did they see? Same as Suzy was describing?”

  “Yep. Tall, upright figure, brown to black, moving fast, headed toward the hills. A couple even described the long arms and a pointy head.”

  “Bigfoot has a pointy head?” he asked with a smile.

  “By many accounts, yes.”

  “Huh. So… Wreck’ll be here for a while?”
>
  I nodded. “And more Bigfoot hunters are showing up. That’s why the coffee shop was so busy this morning.”

  J.D. was silent for a few moments. “He say anything about me?”

  “No,” I replied, looking at him searchingly. “He seemed to like talking about himself. Said he was an MMA fighter. Held the belt, whatever that means.” However, I could add two and two together. J.D. had said they were coworkers, and he was the fittest guy I’d ever had the pleasure of laying hands on.

  I’d been thinking about it the last couple hours, trying to decide how I felt about J.D. being a fighter. Besides him tripping his brother at the bar, I hadn’t seen so much as a hint of aggression from him. Which was good, because violence unnerved me.

  “It means,” J.D. said, “that Wreck—that’s his nickname, short for French Wrecker—beat me in a title match, and took my belt. I was the champ. Now, he is.”

  “The broken collarbone?” I asked.

  He gave a short nod. “He got in a good kick. I fell badly.”

  “And you… want to go back to fighting?”

  “I do. More than anything,” J.D. said quietly.

  I slowed until I was walking beside him. “Why?”

  “It’s what I do,” he said. “You massage, you make coffee. I fight. Always have.”

  “You enjoy it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why? What about it?” I asked, clambering over a fallen log with all the grace of a pregnant wiener dog.

  “I love martial arts,” he said, punctuating his statement with a graceful bound over the same obstacle. “I love the competition, the exercise. Ever heard of a runner’s high?”

  I nodded, and he grinned crookedly. “It’s its own reward. I love getting a paycheck,” he continued. “I love the travel.”

  “Where have you been?”

  “Let’s see… I’ve been to Vegas. A few other places in the US: Chicago, Tampa. I’ve been to Brazil, London. Australia.”

  “You’re kidding. And you won all those fights.”

  “Not all,” he said.

  I studied him, thinking about whether to say it or not. But, of course I did: “I always thought fighters were… a lot rougher than you. Louder. Scarred. Kinda…” I paused, trying to find a way to say it.

  “Dumb?” he asked.

  “Well, yeah.” I glanced back to see if I’d offended him.

  He smile was wry. He shook his head. “It takes all sorts. There are fighters who are doctors and lawyers.”

  We were climbing now, wading steadily uphill against a tide of wild roses, highbush cranberry, and devil’s club. I tried to give the prickly bushes a wide berth, but there was only so much you could do when the hillside was covered with them.

  “What martial arts do you know?” I asked, sparing him a glance. God, his eyes were blue. Easter egg blue.

  “I started with karate and wrestling. Then Brazilian Jiu Jitsu, Muai Tai, others.” He wasn’t winded, and he wasn’t sweating.

  I was panting. “You must be in really good shape,” I said, pausing to press a stitch in my side.

  “I work out,” J.D. said. “Every day, six hours or so.” He steadied me when I teetered.

  “Oh my god,” I groaned. “Six hours every day?”

  “It’s my job. A byproduct of my profession: Excellent stamina.”

  I gulped and continued on, trying to ignore the wild tingles his words caused.

  We reached a fallen spruce that appeared to’ve rolled a couple times. Eyeing the broken branches that jabbed upward, I picked a spot least likely to impale me, and started to climb over. Of course, the moment I put weight on my forward foot, I slid thigh-deep into a tangle of branches.

  When J.D. offered a hand, I accepted. I appreciated the warm strength of his grip, but had to laugh as his tugging just managed to dig me in deeper. Now there was a sharp branch poking me in the ass.

  “Here.” He moved in closer, grasping my elbows.

  Effortlessly, he lifted me straight up and out. He pivoted and set me on my feet, fast and clean. His fingers slid down my arms, then lingered on mine. I was still staring up at him, stunned by his nearness, when he spoke.

  “You’re not wearing your ring today,” he murmured.

  “Ah…” I stepped back, knowing I had to come clean, but also knowing it’d be wise not to be standing too close when I did it. “I’m not actually married.”

  His gaze intensified. “You’re not?”

  I took another step back, and lifted the camera, using it as a barrier between us. “Nope. I’m not.”

  I snapped a quick shot of him, then brushed by and continued uphill. “I wear the ring to discourage some of my more amorous clients. Some of them want a happy ending,” I explained.

  “With their coffee?” J.D. asked, his tone incredulous.

  “No,” I said with a laugh. “With their massage. I do the hour-longs in their cabin, their clothes off, the lights turned down. It gives them ideas.” I stopped to take a couple shots of a wild rose, particularly heavy in bloom. The newer flowers were fuchsia, the older a light, delicate pink.

  He stopped close behind me. The tension was palpable. “You’re really not married?”

  Goosebumps prickled beneath my suddenly too-hot clothes. “Correct, I’m really not. I am un-hitched. Have never said ‘I do’.” And I was trying my damnedest to keep this casual.

  “Boyfriend?” he asked.

  “No.”

  I felt his eyes on me as I took a couple shots of sun-dappled leaves. Movement in a nearby tree caught my attention, and I focused on a squirrel clinging to the trunk of a spruce. It was an old tree, pale green lichen hanging from the branches. I lucked out and got a fairly good picture of the little guy peering around the trunk at us, fluffy tail cocked over his back.

  Despite the show I was putting on, I wasn’t actually huge on photography. I was trying to disguise my intense attraction to J.D. and keep him at arm’s length, but also… I was hoping for a Bigfoot sighting—and if I was really lucky, some pictures.

  Judging by J.D.’s reaction earlier, it was probably better that he not know the real purpose of today’s hike.

  J.D.

  She wasn’t married. Let me just say that again: She. Wasn’t. Married.

  I hadn’t felt this excited, hadn’t been this interested in a woman for as long as I could remember. Play it cool, J.D.

  I cleared my throat. “So, could I take you out—”

  “Nonono,” she said, still taking pictures. It was driving me nuts, the way she wouldn’t look at me. “You’re still my client, J.D. Practically a patient. I’m helping you with your shoulder. It would be unprofessional—wrong—to muddy the waters.”

  “But—”

  She finally glanced over, and laughed at my expression. “Think of it this way: It’d be an awful lot like you paying me for sex.”

  I’d take Thea any-which-way I could get her, but I didn’t think she’d appreciate hearing that. “But I’m not paying you,” I pointed out, dogging her steps. Following Thea uphill was sweet, sweet torture. Up close, I caught the faint whiff of flowers. Hang back a bit, and I was the happy recipient of her rear view. Her clothes were anything but revealing, but I enjoyed the way her shirt folded in at the waist, the way her hips moved with each step, the tightening of her jeans over her ass.

  “Well, you know what I mean. We’re bartering,” she said, waving a hand around. I wanted to catch it, and suck on her slender fingers. See what arguments she’d make with her finger in my mouth.

  “Fine,” I said. “Then I’m firing you.”

  That had her spinning around. “What?”

  “Patients can do that, right?”

  “Well, yeah, if there’s some sort of personality conflict, but not—” She sputtered.

  “Chalk it up to whatever you please,” I said, watching emotions flicker over her face. “You’re fired.” I said it like an endearment.

  “Wait, wait. You’re saying you’d rather get it on
with me, than heal up your shoulder and fight again?” she demanded.

  That gave me pause. But the two didn’t need to be mutually exclusive. I’d heal up and fight again, eventually. It was my bum shoulder, it was attached, and I’d have it to deal with forever. Her, though: I only had her for the next few days. And damn me anyway, for buying that ticket.

  I stepped in close. “I want you.”

  She held up a hand. “No. No, I’m not going to let you do this. I’m gonna help fix you, and as much as I hate the idea, you’re going to fight again.”

  Huh? “You hate it?”

  She was flustered, looking everywhere but at me. “I don’t like fighting. It’s violent. People get hurt.”

  “That’s the nature of the beast.”

  “Well… I don’t like it.” With that, she turned, and continued walking.

  I watched her go.

  “You’re not firing me,” she called back over her shoulder.

  With a grin, I caught up to her. “I know you’re attracted to me.”

  “Doesn’t matter. You’re my patient. And even if you weren’t,” she said before I could form another argument, “I’m only here for the summer, and I don’t do flings.”

  “Why not?” I asked. “Sex is healthy. It gets the blood flowing, good stress relief, relaxing, and all that.”

  “Is that all you want? Sex?”

  “Well…” I let the silence stretch too long, thinking about exactly what I did want.

  “I’m not interested, because I’ll get attached. And I can’t afford to have my heart broken, when I leave at the end of the summer—or when you leave, whichever comes first—by a guy just wanting a little stress relief. Go relieve yourself elsewhere,” she said. She was still facing away, hiking at an increasing pace, and her voice sounded kinda funny there toward the end. Gruff.

  “Thea…” I reached out to drag her to a halt, to make her face me so we could talk this over.

  She spun around before I could touch her. She was out of breath, her eyes shiny. “Can’t we just be friends?” she asked.