by Amelia Wilde
“What are you doing?”
She takes my shirt in her fists and yanks my face down to hers. “This.”
For all her begging last night, she’s not about to say please. Our lips crash together in a whirling mix of stress and relief and sweetness and hurt, all of it set free right here in the alley. She’s got the scent of espresso all over her but she tastes fresh and clean.
I only get a grip when she moans into my mouth. “Ellie,” I mumble against her lips, trying to pull back. She won’t let me at first. “We’re in the alley—”
Her eyes open wide. “Shit. I’m going to have snuck over here for nothing.”
“Let’s go.” I take her by the hand and hustle her toward the side door. We’re inside The Coffee Spot in less than ten seconds, both of us breathing hard, checking over our shoulders.
Ellie bends to look through the main room to Medium Roast across the street. “Do you think they saw us?”
“Probably.”
She looks for another long moment. “Nah,” she decides finally. “They’d be over here at the door if they knew I was about to get nasty with a city slicker like you.”
I shake my head. “They’ve been standing over there all day. Do you really think...wait, what?”
Ellie pulls her head back into the narrower side room and puts her hands up on my chest, backing me against the wall. I think it’s going to be a continuation of the alley, but instead, she stares at my chest like it’s going to reveal something to her. Then she turns her head to the side and lays her cheek against the fabric of my shirt.
My arms go around her on instinct and she relaxes against me. My mind grinds to a halt, clicking uselessly against itself like an engine that won’t turn over. I want her here in my arms forever. I want to be doing so much more than hugging.
Ellie takes a deep breath in and lets it out, then tilts her face up to me for a kiss that sends pleasure ricocheting in slow motion all through my arms, my legs, my chest. It’s a slow and steady kiss, the kind that puts us right in the center. What else matters? Nothing but this. With her tongue playing at my lips I don’t care at all about The Coffee Spot, or finishing anything that I’ve started other than this kiss.
She makes a sound deep in her throat, high and pleading, and it throws us full speed ahead. One moment I’m hugging her and the whole thing is pretty fucking chaste for two people who couldn’t even take the time to find a bed last night. The next moment she’s clawing at my shirt and I have her face in my hands, commanding her movement, claiming her as mine all over again.
I ignore the nagging feeling that she’s not. Is she? Is now the time to say something about it?
No. Now is the time to act.
“Oh, God,” she breathes, cutting her eyes toward the windows that overlook the alley. “We can’t…”
I turn her, moving her effortlessly until I have her backed into a corner. It’s the only corner in this entire space that’s not visible from the alley. She’s a puppet in my hands, holding on for dear life, eyes closed, and I love it. I love every second of it. I love stripping her shorts down to her ankles and pulling one of her feet out. I love taking her panties in my hands and tearing them apart, the fabric ripping along a front seam. And I love lifting her into my arms, bracing one hand against the wall, and letting her wrap her legs around me.
She came here ready, and I sink into her like last night never ended. Ellie rocks her hips forward against mine, and I press my lips against her collarbone. Her heart is beating fast underneath her skin. Mine matches hers, pounding, my skin tingling with the risk of all of this. Of getting caught. Of putting my business in the center of a scandal.
Of falling in love with her.
Ellie is a thunderstorm, intense and strong as a lightning flash, and she cries out into the side of my neck as she comes. I release into her, her ass balanced perfectly on my hands, her weight against me, and it’s the riskiest thing I’ve ever done because I’ve already fallen.
I’ve fallen for her, and nothing will ever be the same.
33
Ellery
After I got my aunt and uncle’s personal army to put their oddly tame sign away, the view across the street was cleared.
Dash stood there for most of the morning, a stack of papers in his hands, smiling at everyone who passed by. He looked like he could have walked out of a magazine. Flawless perfection. Muscles working beneath his t-shirt.
Did it have me hot and bothered?
Yes. Yes, it did.
Then there were the smiles.
Oh, Dash was smiling. He was giving everyone the same professional smile. But all the women on the street were not living up to his code of professionalism. They flashed big, sultry grins at him. They arched their backs and showed off their boobs in cute little halter-tops. They let their hips sway as they walked away, calling things back over their shoulders.
At first, I thought the irritation was coming from working as a barista, covered in a fine layer of coffee dust, tamping drinks with all the strength in my arms from too early in the morning. But it wasn’t that. I’ve been at this since the spring, so my right arm is pretty strong and buff. We don’t need to talk about the left one.
At two thirty, a woman in a flowing sundress cut so low I could see her belly button sashayed up to Dash. I could tell by her sunglasses that she was a tourist. I could tell she was not looking for a job. She was looking for a man, and Dash was right there on the sidewalk.
Sheer, hot jealousy rose in my throat. Jealousy. It made no sense. He’s not mine.
Mine or not, something in me snapped when she reached out and pressed her palm against his shoulder. No, my soul cried out.
“No,” I said out loud, cutting off the elderly woman who was busy ordering some complicated frozen thing that would take twenty minutes to make and still taste like crap.
She gasped. “What did you say to me?”
I forced my gaze to her, heat flaring in my cheeks. “Of course,” I said, covering my momentary lapse not in the slightest. “I’ve got it.”
I rushed the damn drink.
You can bet I rushed it.
I rushed it, and I rushed the last few people through ordering their lattes and getting out the door. It was not the customer service that Aunt Lisa would approve of, but guess what? Sometimes a girl has more important things to do.
I closed early. I’ll come back tomorrow and clean early.
But for now, I’m going to bask in the fact that I made it all the way around the crowd gathering in defense of a coffee shop that’s bound to go under unless I take some drastic measures—and soon. I made it past them into a cool corner in Dash’s store, and he took me. God, did he take me. There’s something about hot sex in the daylight that makes me feel like I’m in control.
Why did it never feel this way with Sol?
Because I wasn’t in control, probably.
When Dash is spent, he holds me up against the wall for several long moments and then lets me down slowly, letting me get the feeling back into my legs. I’m weak in the knees and a slick layer of both of our juices is painting my inner thighs.
“Oh, perfect,” I say, catching my breath. “A bathroom.”
“Pristine, too,” he says, stretching his arms above his head. “Never been used.”
He’s right. Every tile is gleaming, the dispensers full, and I take my sweet time cleaning up.
When I’m done, I find him out on a low backless ottoman that’s clearly supposed to serve as a sofa, his jeans back on, arms behind his head, grinning at me.
I take my place beside him. It is my place, I’ve decided. He folds his arm around me like we’re a couple. The air between us gets heavy.
We both start talking at the same time.
“So what made you think to—”
“I didn’t like that woman with the—”
He laughs, drawing a finger down the side of my arm. “You first.”
“No, I’m…” I shake my head. “I
’m not going to argue. I can answer your question, anyway. I came over because I had to watch you flirting with other women all day.” It’s not quite true, but it’s not quite a joke, either, though that’s how I meant for it to come out.
Dash shifts and the mood darkens a shade. “I tried my damnedest not to flirt with any of them,” he says, and something twists inside me, coiling so tightly that I can’t look him in the eye. “It still bothered you?”
I swallow down the white lie on the tip of my tongue. “Seeing you out there in the sun...” The image is so powerful it nearly takes my breath away. “I wanted you. But—”
He waits. He doesn’t rush me. He doesn’t tell me what I’m thinking. He waits.
“I wanted you to be mine.”
Dash takes in a long, steady breath, and a bubbling anxiety curdles in my gut. Oh, Jesus. He’s going to say that this has all been a mistake. A stupid fling. He’s a man under stress finding something fun to do his first week in town.
“It’s stupid,” I say, too loud for the room. “We haven’t known each other long enough to make any decisions—”
Two fingers under my chin and he’s tilting my face up toward his. I have no choice but to look into the electric green of his eyes. “We’ve known each other long enough.” His mouth is set in a firm line. “If I’m going to take the risk again, it’s going to be with you.”
“The risk?” I don’t feel like a risk. I feel like a person so obsessed with avoiding danger that I’ve given up the only career I ever studied for.
“My ex-wife turned and ran,” he says simply. “I came here knowing that I’d never get in that deep again.” His eyes search mine. “But I did. With you.”
He kisses me then, slow and soft, drowning me in pleasure.
When we come up for air, I have more to say. “I’m so sorry about the sign,” I blurt out, choosing one thread at random. “I don’t know what they’re thinking.”
“They want to protect you,” he says, pulling me in closer. “I can understand that.”
34
Dash
Ellie doesn’t stay over. She goes back to her place.
Her shoulders rise with deep breaths as she walks away. I know the feeling.
Thursday morning, I still feel half-drunk on what happened, my mind hazy.
Rosie is overtired from the moment she wakes up, and I can’t bring myself to take her to Norma’s right away, so I don’t go to the Coffee Spot, either. I call Martin and tell him to let the delivery guy in. Everything’s in place, other than someone to work behind the counter. I’ve been in and out all week, stocking coffee and silverware and to-go cups in three sizes, with double the lids we should need.
I’m still jittery as fuck, but Rosie’s cheeks are flushed. She insists on cuddling up to me all day and we float among the hours.
I should focus on the meeting, which starts at six, but all I can think about is the way Ellie looked when she said she wanted me to be hers.
She didn’t mean hers for the night. She didn’t mean friends with benefits. She meant hers for good. I could see it in her eyes. My hands hesitate on the wheel. I know roughly where she lives. I could find her car parked out front, knock on the door, and—
And let all those people ruin my reputation in front of Lakewood’s city council.
That gets my heart pumping. The adrenaline in my veins wakes me the hell up.
The meetings are held in the main meeting area of the city hall. My footsteps echo on the tiled floor as I walk down the hall, but they’re not loud enough to drown out the chatter of other people waiting for the meeting to start. It sounds like a lot of people are in there.
I’m right. The room has at least ten rows of chairs, and the first five are full. I do a scan of the crowd. Ellie isn’t here. For an instant I’m relieved, but it turns to resignation. I want to curl my fingers through hers while I suffer through whatever these people have planned for me. She probably wouldn’t want to be so public about it—not when our businesses are at war—but with every moment that passes I care less and less about what our businesses are doing.
A whisper goes through the crowd when one of them notices me. Well, fuck them, too. I’m not going to shrink away from this. I take a seat in the sixth row and sit up straight, head held high, ready to fight for The Coffee Spot. I might not care about its supposed feud with Medium Roast, but I care if these people are spreading lies about me all through Lakewood. Jesus. I haven’t been here long enough to cause this much of a stir.
It starts.
It could not be more boring.
An old man reads the minutes from the last meeting, reads out a list of resolutions that they passed some time in the last century, and reads a menu of other skull-numbing shit they’re going to be talking about. There’s a lively debate about newspaper vending machines between the council members.
This goes on for an hour.
Finally, it’s time for public input. I have to drag myself out of a stupor to pay attention. Morris fixes that for me. He clearly doesn’t understand microphones and shouts at his usual volume.
“We’ve come here today,” he shouts, and the microphone gives a jagged feedback that nearly destroys everyone in the room. A woman steps up from the side and puts her hand on his arm, saying something that the mic doesn’t quite pick up. He starts again. “We’ve come here today,” he says, nodding at the first two rows, “to say that we are opposed to the new business across from Medium Roast. Medium Roast is the coffee shop we’ve been visiting for ten years, and as you all know—” He flips over a paper held in his hands. “Lisa and Fred Collins have worked very hard to keep it open for us. This is despite the fact”—his face is getting redder by the second—“that the city levies untenable taxes on its business owners, and despite the fact that they have been weathering personal family crises. It was wrong for the city to approve the permits for this other business.” He makes a disgusted sound in the back of his throat, and half the people in the first two rows answer with muted applause.
Great.
The man who was wearing the red shirt yesterday joins Morris at the microphone. “We’d like to start a petition for the removal of The Coffee Spot on the grounds—pun intended—that this business will hurt our economy.” He laughs at his own joke.
A loud gaveling cuts him off. The mayor—it has to be the mayor—is furiously banging wood on wood. “Gentlemen,” he says, then again, louder. “Gentlemen. This is absolutely absurd.”
I want to shout thank you but I bite my tongue.
“You can’t protest a business on the grounds that you don’t like the fact that they’ve taken over some real estate. That’s not how the rules work, and you know it perfectly well. Walt, if you have some other issue, save it for your letters to the editor.”
Walt, who today is wearing a green shirt, frowns and slinks back to his seat in the first row. Grumbling ensues.
“Are there any other public comments?” the mayor asks.
I’m out of my seat before I have time to think. Straight to the front of the room. Straight to the microphone. I lean in, trying to catch everyone’s eyes and mostly failing.
“Your name, sir?” asks the Mayor.
“Dash Huxley,” I say, slowly, making sure they’ve all got it. “I own The Coffee Spot.” I drop my voice to a menacing level. “And anyone who has a problem with it”—they’re hanging on my every word. A tingle runs up and down my spine. This is my moment. This moment, right now, will determine everything else.—“can come in tomorrow for a complimentary coffee. Give it a chance. I have a daughter.”
“Me, too!” cries a guy in the back, and a pocket of women around him applaud.
I give them all a crisp nod and get the hell out of there.
35
Ellery
Come over.
That’s all the message says, and it comes it at ten o’clock, when I’m frankly already in my pajamas and nestled in with a sitcom on Netflix. But Dash’s name on the phone h
as me scrambling for a pair of jeans and a top as soon as I read the words.
I don’t bother replying. I grab my phone, shove it into my purse, and head for my car. I make it to his place in less than ten minutes.
I knock softly at the door and pull my phone out in case he doesn’t hear. The evening coolness paws my neck under my hair while I wait. The door opens a few moments later revealing Dash, who is still looking at his own screen.
“You look confused,” I say softly. His daughter has to be asleep. I’m not going to be the one who wakes her up. Even from outside, I can tell that a nighttime stillness has settled over his house. If we fuck, it’ll have to be quiet. I could get on board with that mood.
“You didn’t write back.”
“I live in Lakewood. It was quicker to drive over.”
He cracks a smile, but there’s a tension around his eyes that sends a bolt of nervousness straight through my chest. “Want to come in?”
I give him a slow nod.
Dash steps out of the way.
Once I’m all the way in the house he closes the door tightly behind us and flips the lock. He takes one deep breath, then steps in close, sliding his hand around the back of my head like we’ve been doing this forever. Have we not been doing this forever? I wouldn’t mind if we had.
He kisses me so long it takes my breath away. Finally I have to surface, gasping for a breath. “Whoa,” I say, pushing him back an inch to get first dibs on the oxygen in the room. “What’s going on?”
Dash looks down at me. “Do you want to go for a swim?”
“What? I’m getting whiplash. Swimming?”
“Swimming,” he repeats. “I want to be in the water. With you.”
“I don’t have a bathing suit.”
The grin that spreads across his face is slow and sultry. “You don’t need a bathing suit.”