Page 33 of Yours Truly

He moves toward the door, and the jingle of the bell as it opens into the private night causes bumps to rise up on my arms beneath my hoodie.

Grabbing my bag, I sling it over my shoulder and head out, taking a discreet breath as I walk past him in the doorway. His scent hits me between the legs, and after he locks up Ink Time for Deuce, he comes by my side. We walk across the street together in silence, and Trace opens the door for me at Goode’s, too.

I don’t think I can take sucking in his pine-laced-with-sweat scent again, so I hold my breath as I walk past him into the diner. Lucy, the waitress who’s been at Goode’s since my earliest memory, waves at me from the kitchen in the back. “Ivy! Seat yourselves.”

I smile and nod, then survey the place for the best seat.

A few old couples are here having decaf with a slice of pie but for the most part, Goode’s is quiet. I choose a table and slip into the booth, eager to sit and ease the aching between my legs.

Trace slips into the booth across from me, a rush of his scent enveloping me. It’s almost annoying how good he smells after a full day of work and it’s more annoying that he can’t at the very least wear a cologne I hate.

I love pine. I love the outdoors. And I love a man who smells like the things I love. Pine trees and hard work are essentially the formula for sex with me.

Lucy appears, sliding us two laminated menus and two glasses of ice-cold water. I’ve been here a thousand times and don’t need a menu, but I don’t know about Trace, so I tell her we need a few minutes. She agrees to come back and as she walks away, Trace stops her.

“Lucy, could I bother you for a cup of coffee?”

“Decaf or the good stuff?”

Trace chuckles. I don’t know if I’ve heard him chuckle. Snort? Yes. Snark? For sure. But an actual little chuckle? It’s deep and rich and so sexy that the pine takes a back seat as his timbre washes over me, leaving me achy and wet.

“What’s good here?” he says, his eyes moving up and down the three tiers of food broken down by breakfast, lunch and dinner.

I roll my lips together. “Well, I like the Cobb salad and the chicken tortilla soup, but really, everything’s pretty good.”

His focus is on me when I glance from Lucy across the room back to him.

“Cobb salad, huh?” he says, tearing the white paper from a straw on the table. He drops it into the glass of water Lucy brought over and takes a sip. “That actually… sounds good.”

Heat cruises up my neck. “Wow. So agreeable today.”

He clasps his hands together on top of the menu and stares at the surface of his water. “You did good shading work today.”

Inside, I’m absolutely howling. Squealing and screaming, even. “Thank you.”

He sips his water again. “I even liked the cockhouse.”

Lucy reappears. “What’ll it be?”

“Two Cobb salads,” Trace says, ordering for me, which no one has ever done. Even as a girl, my father told me I should grow up to be a strong woman, unafraid to use my voice. I was ordering Shirley Temples and tuna sandwiches on my own by age five. I don’t need to be rescued, but someone knowing my order and placing it for me? Kind of nice.

Surprisingly sexy.

Once she’s asked us about our drink orders—Trace surprisingly sticks with water and decaf coffee—she leaves us and I’m able to respond to his comment about my stupid lighthouse sketch.

“I’m embarrassed it looked so… phallic.” I choose my words carefully because I’m already swollen and aching for him. Damn pine cologne. And gorgeous hands. And cool ink. And—okay, it’s the whole package.

He shrugs. “Maybe you have dick on the brain.”

He has no clue how right he is.

Or does he?

I push hair behind my ear, tucking it there to buy me a second. After a sip of water, I agree. “I probably do.” With my eyes locked on his I say, “It’s been way too long since I’ve fucked.”

He blinks a few times, startled by my choice of words. “I guess you don’t know about that,” I add, spreading the paper napkin over my lap.

He makes no comment back, surprisingly, and instead says, “I’m moving out of my apartment.”

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