Page 198 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1

“Too much.” Jenna covers her ears dramatically. “Oh my God, my poor innocent ears.”

“Innocent? Please.” I bite back a laugh, flicking my hair back with mock drama. “You’re dating Carter. The man who literally spent years handcuffing people for a living.” I waggle my eyebrows suggestively. “Don’t tell me he doesn’t cuff you to his bed until you beg for release, and byrelease, I mean orgasms.”

“Ally!” Malia drops her rag onto the counter, doubled over, shaking with laughter.

“I never claimed to,” I deadpan. “Honestly, you should try it sometime. Being adventurous does wonders for your mood. Clears the skin, too.”

“Clears the skin?” Malia straightens, blinking. “Like… exfoliating?”

Jenna groans across the counter, pointing at me like I’ve committed a felony. “That does not clear the skin.” Her cheeks flame red hot.

Malia stares between us, completely lost. “What? What doesn’t?”

I lean across the counter, chin propped in my hand, smirking like the cat that got into the cream. “You know… protein treatment. Straight from the source.”

Jenna facepalms. Malia’s eyes go huge.

“OH MY GOD.” Malia covers her mouth, half-laughing, half-horrified. “You’re talking about—that’s not skincare!”

“Tell that to my glow,” I shoot back, winking. “It’s all about technique and dedication. Walt’s slacking if you’re not radiant by now.”

Malia makes a strangled noise, fumbling with the espresso machine again as it sputters ominously. “You’re impossible. And this damn machine is impossible too.”

The register screen freezes just as I’m trying to log in, and I sigh dramatically, tapping at it with mounting frustration. “Seriously, we need to get some actual tech people in here. The repair guy clearly has no idea what he’s doing.”

“The budget’s too tight for a real technician,” Jenna sighs, arranging pastries in the display case. As co-manager with Malia, she’s been fighting this battle for weeks. “So we’re stuck with Mike and his mysterious toolbox of incompetence.”

“I’m starting to think he’s making things worse on purpose so he can keep coming back,” Malia mutters, wiping foam from her forearm. “We made a huge mistake giving him free coffee. Now he’s probably purposely breaking the machine just to have an excuse to return for free lattes.”

I switch gears, grinning wickedly at Malia again. “Speaking of coming… how’s Walt’s doing?”

“What do you mean?” Malia asks innocently.

“Imeanis he giving you tons of orgasms?”

Malia rolls her eyes, but a telltale blush spreads across her cheeks. “Some of us prefer to keep our private lives private.”

“Boring,” I sing-song, finally getting the register to respond with a few strategic taps. “What’s the point of having amazing sex if you can’t brag about it to your friends?”

“There’s bragging, and then there’s whatever you do,” Malia says, laughing despite herself. “Which is basically narrating a play-by-play.”

“You’re just jealous because I have two men who are exceptionally skilled with their hands, mouths, and cocks,” I tease. “Although I’m sure Walt hashis own… talents.”

“I’m not discussing this.” Malia insists, but her smile gives her away.

Jenna shakes her head with mock sympathy, patting Malia’s shoulder. “There’s no winning with Ally. Just accept it.”

The door chimes again, and Sophia walks in, long braid swishing behind her as she flashes us a bright grin. Her cheeks are flushed in a way that suggests she’s been doing more than just running to make it on time.

Behind her, Rebel follows, her dark eyes sweeping across the café with their usual intensity, though her normally pristine appearance is slightly disheveled—her shirt collar askew in a way she’d never normally allow. Mia slips in last, her dark hair falling from a messy bun, looking thoroughly flustered with pink blooming across her neck and cheeks.

“Speak of the devils,” I say under my breath, earning a knowing laugh from Malia.

“Sorry!” Sophia calls, ducking behind the counter and tossing her bag onto the shelf by the break room door. “We’re late, but it wasn’t our fault.”

Jenna folds her arms, smirking as Rebel follows more slowly, pulling her hair into a low bun and tying her apron around her waist.

“You’re running thirty minutes late, and it’s not your fault?” Jenna asks, her voice dripping with amused skepticism. “This I have to hear.”

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