Page 14 of The Barista's Beloved

Ben looked away before she or Max could catch him staring. While he didn’t necessarily consider himself a good guy, he wasn’t a total asshole either. He really had to get his overactive imagination under control. Every time he saw Maeve his mind automatically jumped to all the filthy things he wanted to do to her. Like right now, he would happily give his left kidney if it meant he could have have her sweet pink lips wrapped around his cock the same way they circled that goddamn straw.

And that right there was why he’d avoided hugging her the other day. While Maeve had been unable to pry her eyes away from the horizon, he’d been unable to take his eyes off of her. She really was the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. But it went much deeper than that. He’d been proud of her, too. And seeing how proud she was of herself had been a huge turn-on. The first time his stomach had pitched and rolled during the conversation, he’d assumed the tacos had been off, but when it happened a few more times with no other adverse effects, he realized what it actually was.

Whether conscious or not, Maeve had shared a side of herself with him that she didn’t often show the rest of the world, and the knowledge that she trusted him in that way had driven him absolutely wild. He’d always been drawn to strong women, and despite her easy disposition and obvious need to please the people around her, it was a revelation to find out the woman actually had a spine made of steel.

He’d been hard the entire afternoon.

Which was why when she’d reached out to hug him, he’d taken a step back and put his hand up for a high-five instead. Possibly offending her had seemed the safer of his options, but then things had turned a different sort of awkward between them. By the time they’d parted ways, he’d managed to convince himself their lunch date was going to be their first, last, and only one.

So the fact that Max was trying to foist him off on her now wasn’t a welcome turn of events. He didn’t know if he could pretend to be impartial when she eventually gave him some thinly-veiled excuse for why she was busy or how she needed to be somewhere else.

“Nuh-uh,” he said, shaking his finger at Max. “I don’t need you arranging my play dates for me.”

“Play dates?” Maeve’s voice came out as a surprised squeak, and Ben swiveled on his stool to face her. Her cheeks were flushed pink, causing her freckles to stand out even more starkly against her normally pale skin, and her eyes were wide with what looked like apprehension.

Damn, Ben thought. He really had fucked things up the other day with that high-five. Better that, he told himself, then have her feel the literal extent of his admiration. They were friends; she didn’t need to know how big his dick was.

“Ben’s bored,” Max explained as he resumed leaning against the counter behind him. “And since I’m busy making overnight brisket, he has no one to hang out with.”

“Thanks for making me sound like a loser,” Ben shot back.

Max shrugged. “If it walks like a duck …”

“What did you have in mind?” Maeve asked suddenly, causing Ben’s heart to kick violently in his chest. Maybe she hadn’t been completely repulsed by his bumbling attempt at keeping things strictly platonic.

“I’d proposed beers down at The Hut, but—”

Maeve shuddered. “The last time I was there, Big Mitch’s nephew Cooter asked what it would take to make me his ‘old lady.’” She used her fingers to make air quotes. “I’ve watched enough episodes of Sons of Anarchy to know I want nothing to do with that lot. Especially since he’s no Charlie Hunnam.”

Ben was no Charlie Hunnam either, but with his increasingly long dirty blonde hair and the five o’clock shadow he sported more often than not, he was way closer to the actor than the large, hairy bikers he’d met the few times he’d been at The Hut. They were all good enough guys, but none of them would be winning any beauty contests anytime soon.

Briefly, Ben entertained the idea that if the scruffy, buff, blonde look was what did it for Maeve, then he might stand a chance with her after all. But as quickly as the thought popped into his head, he reminded himself it was ridiculous to get his hopes up. They’d been clear from the beginning about what this was between them—friendship, and nothing more.

It was too bad, then, that he wanted more.

“It’s not The Hut,” she was saying as she slid from her stool and dropped a five dollar bill on the counter, “but you’re welcome to head back to the distillery with me. I could give you a tour and let you taste the some of the stuff my dad sent to tide us over until our first whiskey properly matured.”

“I don’t want to put you out,” Ben answered.

She shook her head and smiled at him. “It’s no trouble, really. It’ll give me a chance to practice the messaging Iain’s been trying to drill into my head since that article came out.”

“What was wrong with the article?” He slid off his own stool and pulled out his wallet to pay Max for the food and drinks he’d had.

Before Maeve could answer, Max held up his hand. “What did I tell you? Your money’s no good here.”

Ben sighed and pushed the money across the copper bar top. “And I told you I’m no charity case.”

Max scoffed. “You think that’s what’s going on here?”

“Isn’t it?” He widened his stance and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Dude. Put your fucking money away.” Max pushed the bills back across the counter. “Your mom fed Isabella and me more times than I could count when we were growing up. If anything, I still owe you.”

Ben didn’t buy that line of reasoning for one second, but he didn’t want to draw any further attention to his diminished financial state either. Maeve didn’t need to know his salary from The Hollow Bean couldn’t cover even his most basic needs. Sheepishly, he settled the cash back inside his wallet and turned to her. “You were saying?”

She stared at him like he’d sprouted two heads.

“About messaging?” he reminded her.

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