Page 11 of Stella
My prospect cut.
I swallow hard. “There you go.” I hand him his cup, and he takes it gratefully.
We’re almost toe to toe when he says, “Stella? Whose is that?”
Calli moves next to him and sits.
He couldn’t know anything about my plans, I’ve never told him, and he’s not close with anyone in the MC. So a look I’ve never seen before, mixed between confusion and annoyance, crosses his pretty face when I clear my throat and say: “It’s mine.”
His lips part and my eyes drop to them. Man, I wonder how soft they would be. His presence in this tiny room is doing things to me, and the faint waft of his cologne goes straight between my thighs. “Yours?” The words sound foreign, disbelieving.
“I, uh, I can explain.”
He piques an eyebrow, and I’ve never seen him this way, well not to me. Stern. His eyebrows knitted together. His posture rigid. “I’m listening.”
“Well, it’s always been a lifelong dream of mine to join the MC.” I let the words hang as he continues to stare at me. “And the opportunity arose?—”
“A lifelong dream?” he butts in.
“Well, uh, I grew up in the MC, so it’s second nature.”
He moves a step closer. Instinctively, I take a step back. Then he tells Calli to stay but doesn’t take his eyes off me. “This is some kinda joke, right?” He has the audacity to look around as if he’s being punked.
I try not to wince at his words, but I find I’m often on a losing streak when it comes to keeping my emotions off my face. “No, it’s no joke.”
Another step. This time when I move back, my butt hits the sink, so I’ve nowhere left to go.
“How can you be a prospect when you’re a—” He stops.
I fold my arms over my chest as he looms over me. Goddamn, he’s so fucking hot, even if I’m pissed at what he’s about to say.
“When I’m a what?”
His eyes; they’re darker, somehow. Like an ocean when you’re being steered away from calmer waters and into the big, deep blue. I don’t know if I like this kind of blue, though, it looks wild. This man oozes sex appeal like no other man I’ve ever met. I don’t know if he knows it, because Cale isn’t like any other guy. He doesn’t have a big ego, or something to prove. After afew moments’ pause, he continues. “I didn’t think they allowed women to prospect.”
“Well, apparently they do.” Fine. I sound haughty, whatever.
I also don’t like the way his eyebrows knit together like that and stay there. If he could breathe fire from his nostrils, I’m sure he would. Why does it bother him, anyway? I know he isn’t exactly the MC’s biggest fan, but still. He can’t tell me what to do. Does he think just because he’s a cop that gives him and his sexy ass a right to come into my workplace and boss me around? I’m so tired of literallyeveryonein my life doing that.
“You’re prospecting?”
“Did I speak French?”
“Je ne sais pas, et toi?”Why, don’t you?
I frown.He speaks French?
Well, two can play at that game. “Oui. J’ai appris quand j’e’tais enfant.”Yes. I learned it as a child.
I wish he’d stop staring at me like that; with eyes that promise so much more. I don’t know exactly what that is, but I wish my heart rate would calm the fuck down because his close proximity, the way his body towers over mine, and those dark, sexy eyes make me weak at the knees. I like growly men. I don’t like a man who’s a pushover, or who can’t hold his own. Right now, even though he’s being a jerk about the prospect thing, he’s fucking hot. There’s no denying it. And then there’s the uniform. I swallow hard and try not to lower my gaze over that fucking uniform. There’s just something about a man with a blue collar. Albeit, when he’s not patrolling, he’s usually wearing slacks with a white shirt, and a jacket in the cooler months. I’d die to see him in a suit.
And he speaks French? I immediately imagine all the dirty French words he could whisper in my ear.
“Huh.”
I make a ‘Yup’ face with a shrug. “Not just a pretty face.”
“I can see that,” he says.
