Page 3 of The Price of Forever

“I’m gonna need to be on the register now,” Mitchell hissed, bumping past me.

Lillith shot him a look that said you’re crazy. “I’m logged in!”

“It’s time for your break,” Mitchell said.

Lillith huffed but conceded. After seeing his forearms, I thought maybe I should be on the register.

But no. As a rule, I disliked men. Heterosexual men, at least. Physically speaking, they were all I was attracted to. But my track record left a lot to be desired. Men were to be avoided—as partners. As interests.

They could pay me. They could exist near me. But that was it.

The line slowly moved forward. I didn’t even need to look up to know that Mitchell had finally begun waiting on his hottie du jour.

“Oh, hello there,” he said, extra sugar in his voice. “Now what can I get started for you today?”

I bit back a smile; he was laying it on thick. The vocal equivalent of preening his peacock feathers.

I forced myself to focus on my task—cleaning the milk containers—as the Terminator ordered. He ordered an Earl Gray tea, no sugar. His voice came out like rough velvet—gritty and lower than I expected. I was so surprised by the order—I’d pegged him for a red eye kind of guy—and unnerved by the way his voice echoed inside me that my gaze slid back to him.

And found soulful brown eyes already looking at me.

Heat zipped through me again, and I buried myself in my task. While Mitchell tried to make small talk, I started brewing the tea. An easy order. I had it ready for the likely robot practically by the time the guy stepped to the far end where the orders were picked up. I flashed him a breezy smile, steeling myself to meet his gaze again. This time, though, I noticed the eyelashes.

Fuck. They were far too long and luxurious for someone so beefy. Terminators weren’t supposed to need an eyelash curler. I almost choked on my words. “Earl Gray for…” I double checked the name. “Sven?”

He cocked a smirk. “Close enough.”

I handed him the insulated container, my fingers trembling as his hand came near. Energy surged between us; this felt far too momentous, practically preordained. Why could I almost hear angels singing? The ridiculousness of my bodily reaction to this man made me falter. My fingers relaxed just as he reached for the tea…and the cup crashed to the countertop.

Hot. Tea. Everywhere.

Heat flooded my cheeks, and I clamped a hand over my mouth. He stepped back quickly. Didn’t even look surprised, much less perplexed. And somehow, that was even more mortifying.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I thought you had it. I’m so, so sorry.”

My cheeks had to be the color of apples. I grabbed a rag and started mopping up the countertop. I couldn’t even look in his direction. I hadn’t dropped a drink since my first week on the job two years ago. “Did any of it get on you?”

“All good,” he responded smoothly.

My heart thudded in my chest. “Just give me a second. I’ll make you another one.”

As I faced the hot water dispenser, Mitchell sidled up to me. “Too hot to behold in the flesh, isn’t he?”

“Shut up,” I hissed. “It was an honest slip.”

“He came in earlier today. I hope he becomes a regular.” Mitchell bumped my hip before returning to the register. I took a deep breath and popped in the tea bag and lidded the insulated cup. Round two. I could do this. I would not even look at this man until his beverage was securely in his hands. I would walk up to him with my eyes pinched shut and some sort of protective suit on, so his testosterone didn’t get on me.

Jordan, when was the last time you were attracted to a man?

I couldn’t remember. Probably back when I was naïve and dumb, in my late teens. Life had sure beaten the naivete out of me. A little too hard, I’d say. I made sure the lid was extra secure before stepping back toward the counter and offering a glossy smile.

“Round two. No spillage. Have a great day.”

His lips parted like he might add something, but instead he nodded. He strode off, leaving a pleasant waft of his cologne, which settled over me in waves of pure male and cedar.

Goddammit, the cologne was always the fatal final blow.

I drew a deep breath, feeling like I needed to fan myself. Was this how the men felt at the strip club every night? I put on a damn good show, I knew that much, but I was wearing heels with my ass cheeks hanging out. Different ball game. This man was fully clothed and just ordering tea.

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