Page 90 of The Fine Line
“I’m sorry, but I have to go?—”
I turn, expecting some starstruck teenager.
Instead, I get a drop-dead gorgeous woman in a black workout set that should come with a warning label.
“Well, that’s fine and all,” she says, lifting an eyebrow, “but you’re not going anywhere with my coffee.”
“Your coffee?”
“Uh huh.” She nods at the cup in my hand.
“But they called my name?—”
“Rhett!” a barista yells behind me, right as I turn the cup and see the nameJennettescribbled across it.
“Oh…”
I step forward, grab my actual drink, and turn back to find her watching me with her arms crossed—just making that workout set even more criminal. She’s not hiding the way she looks at me, so I don’t either.
“Sorry about that, Jennette.” I hold out her drink like I’m presenting a trophy, giving her a slight bow.
“Seems like an honest enough mistake,Rhett,” she says, meeting my eyes from under her lashes.
I know what happens next. This is the game—and I could play it in my sleep. Either she walks away, or she doesn’t. If three seconds pass and she’s still looking at me, I’ve got her.
I count to five.
Still locked in.
Bingo.
“You know,” I say, stepping closer, “it’s kind of crazy.”
“What is?” she asks, tilting her head just enough for her blonde ponytail to fall over her shoulder.
“How much we have in common.”
She snorts. “We don’t even know each other.”
“Well, for starters, our names rhyme. And we’re both too pretty for our own good.” I grin. “That’s two for two.”
She hums, trying to stay unbothered, but her pink-tinged cheeks give her away.
“Well, I’m not sure I trust your judgement. Either you’re blind or extremely unobservant.”
I knit my brows, confused, until she holds up her drink.
“Our coffee orders clearly differ.”
Hers is jet black.
Mine? Pretty much chocolate milk.
“What can I say?” I shrug. “I like my coffee like I like my women.” I hold up my cup. “Blonde and sweet.”
“To each their own,” she says, clinking her cup against mine.
I start to pull away, but she leans in.
