Page 7 of Untamed Instincts

Noah glanced at Quinton, embarrassed he’d only caught half of what the guy had said. His attention was on the way Quinton meticulously cut the French toast into even cubes.

“Now we have our reward.” He stabbed a cube then handed Noah the fork. Cinnamon and vanilla wafted toward him, making his stomach rumble.

“I heard that,” Quinton’s eyes gleamed with gentle warmth and amusement. “But you can’t eat it until you answer my question honestly.”

“Can I at least have a cup of coffee?” Noah’s mouth tasted like stale beer, and so had the small burp he’d just let out.

“How do you take it?” Quinton stood again, reminding Noah just how tall the man was. His bulk shouldn’t allow him to fit inside the booth, but he’d somehow managed.

“If you keep running to get everything, you might end up on Roman’s payroll.” He chuckled, but the emotion behind it wasn’t there.

Quinton’s eyes said he’d heard the hollowness.

“Just cream.” Noah was uncomfortable with the way the man’s gaze seemed to burrow right into him.

When Quinton walked back behind the counter, Noah squinted to see out into the darkness, still feeling like he was being watched. It might have been the darkness, along with the quiet of the night, that spooked him. Toro might not even be out there.

“Excuse me?” one of the men in the last booth called out.

Quinton turned and looked at the guy. “Yeah?”

“If you’re done with your break, I could use some service over here. Haven’t been waited on in half an hour,” he complained with a bite to his voice.

Noah’s gaze darted from the angry customer to Quinton, wondering who in their right mind would talk crap to a guy the size of a small mountain.

It was also early morning in a small town. The guy should consider himself lucky the diner was even open at the late hour—or early hour, depending on how you looked at it.

“What do you need?” Quinton asked as if he really worked there. He brought Noah the cup of coffee he’d poured from the carafe, a small bowl of creamers in his other hand.

“For starters, my coffee needs refilled,” the stranger grumbled. “You could do your job and clear away these dishes, too.”

Had the guy not seen Noah and Quinton enter the diner not ten minutes ago? Maybe he assumed Quinton had just started his shift since he kept going behind the counter.

Whatever the stranger thought, that was no excuse for being a jerk. Noah had been to plenty of restaurants with slow service, but getting an attitude only made the server work more slowly.

He placed his hand over Quinton’s, unsure how the giant would react to such rudeness. Noah felt the thick tension in the air, but thankfully Roman entered the dining area, a shorter, slimmer man following.

The twink had kiss-swollen lips and a dazed look in his eyes. Since Noah really didn’t know Roman—only that he owned the place—he could only guess the slim man was his boyfriend.

Or a hookup.

“Talk to my customer that way again, Hank, and I’ll be forced to tell your wife you’re really not at work at this hour but hanging out with her enemy’s husband.”

Hank glanced at Quinton. “My bad. I thought Roman hired another server.”

“You know damn well to come to the window or just yell for me if you need something until my servers show up at five,” Roman snarled.

Quinton slid into their booth. “Glad to see you didn’t eat your reward,” he said as if the tense moment with Hank had never happened.

So, Noah pretended as well. He took a sip of his coffee and groaned. “There’s nothing better than freshly brewed.”

“What’s on your mind?”

It took a second for Noah to realize they were playing their game. “Since Roman doesn’t serve alcohol, what’s the consequence if either of us fail to answer?”

The side of Quinton’s mouth curved into a smile. “The other has to pay for coffee.”

His smile spoken volumes of something other than coffee.

---