Page 15 of Fated Shot

“Vanilla latte?” I ask, looking toward him.

He nods and averts his gaze ever so slightly, taking a slow sip from his own cup.

“Lucky guess?” I press, genuinely dumb-founded as to whether I really do come across as this level of basic or he’s just some jedi level mind-reader.

He avoids my gaze, eyes fixed on the floor in front of him, his broad shoulders slumped against the wall in the crampedentryway. I struggle to read his expression. His voice barely reaches me, a quiet mumble, “I remembered.”

“You remembered?” I ask, more confused than ever. He gives a small nod, this time holding my gaze. There’s an uncertainty in his eyes, like he’s trying to read my reaction. I try to think back to our walk. When did we ever even talk about coffee? I didn’t have a cup on the ice during the near-fall fiasco either. When would he have even… Light. Freaking. Bulb.

“YOU!” I shout, marching toward him and jabbing a finger to the center of his rock-hard chest. “You’re a booth thief.”

His expression lightens as he smirks, quirking one eyebrow up at me, “Booth thief?”

“Yes, always in my spot at Cordelia’s, lurking in the corner and destroying the bench cushion with your freakishly large body!”

“Freakishly large, eh?” he chuckles.

“The structural integrity of the cushions will never be the same.”

“Geez, didn’t realize you were so passionate about seating.”

“Well, now you do. I’ve staked my claim and demand you relinquish my spot from this point forward.”

“Oh yeah?” he says, staring me down, a smile spreading across his face, “Or what?” he adds, amusement flooding his eyes.Is he flirting with me right now?

The intensity of his gaze causes me to drop my hand down, lightly brushing his stomach as it falls. I hear a throaty grumble escape him the moment it does. The sound tugs at my core, making me bite my lip. Nope, nope, nope. A sound alone should not be making me feel this way. Taking a half step back, I’m suddenly much more aware of the limited space. We’re squeezed in the entryway that’s only slightly wider than the front door.

Noticing the distance I immediately placed between us, he takes a slow breath. The flicker of excitement in his eyes dwindling with every passing second.

“How about next year, we rock-paper-scissors for it?”

“Deal,” I manage to say with a steadying breath.

Still trying to process, I recite more to myself than anything, “So you memorized my coffee order and stole my booth.”

How had I not noticed him? I mean, I definitely noticed him, but I never, I don’t know,noticedhim. Just great, Mia. Now, you’re not even making grammatical sense. Lovely.

“Why didn’t you ever say hi?” I look back up at him, trying to decipher his now more serious expression.

Looking at the ground, he shakes his head slowly. “I wish I did.”

As if in a moment of trying to convince himself not to, we lock eyes once more, and he moves his body toward me, my back officially reaching the wall.

He towers over me, his body radiating heat, his head tilted down slightly as I peer up at him. His woodsy scent engulfs me. I watch his throat as he swallows slowly, trying to control his breathing. It’s like he’s feeling this as much as I am. The thudding of his chest does nothing to tame my own.

I can’t even think straight, but I can feel my head moving slowly toward his, drawn to the moment, drawn to him. Like two magnets feeling the pull toward each other, inching closer to the instinct to snap together. He agonizingly slowly closes the distance until I can feel his breath on my face, lips nearly grazing mine.

My alarm blares again from my sweatshirt’s front pocket, snapping me out of my daze. He instinctively steps back as I yank it out, turning it off. Saved by the bell.

I clumsily fumble around to slip on my crocks, only allowing myself a quick peek in Jack’s direction, who has now backed up to be flush against the opposite wall, staring straight ahead.

“I-I’ve really gotta go. Thank you for everything,” I spit out as I race through the door into the hallway.

Chapter 8

Jack

FUCK.

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