Page 14 of Can't Help Growling in Love
“Uh, a latte and two of those, please.” I point at the display case to show her the exact same cupcake that the little girl chose yesterday. The frosting is pink, yellow, and blue, and the sprinkles are glittery silver, so I hope to hell they’re actually edible. “Yeah, those rainbow ones.”
She doesn’t comment on my choice of pastries but seems relieved I’ve made my decision. “For here or to go?”
“To go,” I say, just in case. If June doesn’t show in the next fifteen minutes, I’ll take my order and escape to eat both cupcakes as a consolation prize.
I wait by the counter for my coffee, then snag a small table in the middle of the room when a trio of elderly women get up and shuffle toward the door. I’d sit on the patio outside, but I don’t want to miss June.
Waiting is pure torture. I’m at least twenty minutes early considering her arrival yesterday, and I really should have thought this through. I’m facing the front door so I can monitor the customers coming and going, but that means there are people behind me, as well as the bathrooms and the service exit behind the counter. My Army-honed instincts are screaming at me to get the hell away from here and into a more secure position, but I sit tight, shoulders hunched, and try to focus on my phone.
June hasn’t posted anything since yesterday, and she hasn’t sent me any new messages since I woke up. Not that I was expecting her to. But it has me wondering whether I’m being a creep again, haunting her favorite coffee shop in the hopes of running into her.
“Excuse me, are these seats taken?”
A human woman approaches me, several years older than me, and frowns at the two empty chairs at my table. Her meaning is clear—I’m a single customer occupying a table for three.
“You can take one,” I tell her. “I’m waiting for a friend.”
She purses her lips, then carries the third chair away. I duck my head to project an unapproachable vibe, hoping others will leave me alone. Is it bad manners to drink coffee on your own in a café?
“Asher?”
A soft voice has me looking up again. June is standing in front of me, her pink helmet dangling from her fingers. Her hair is loose today, tumbling around her shoulders, windswept and messy. A few strands stick to her forehead, which bears a slight imprint of the helmet. Her brown eyes are wide with surprise, and there’s that flush again, brightening her cheeks.
She has freckles. I don’t know how I missed them before. They’re sprinkled across the bridge of her nose and her cheeks, tiny brown dots I want to trace with my fingertips.
Is she annoyed that I’m here? Or happy to see me? Or maybe she’s just flushed from riding her bike.
I stare up at her, unable to speak. Maybe I’ve run out of my social battery already, having talked to both the barista and the stranger who commandeered one of the chairs. Or maybe June is entirely too pretty for me to handle, and the sight of her has fried my brain.
She chose her purple raincoat again, even though the weather is dry, but underneath it she’s wearing mossy green leggings that hug her legs perfectly, showing off the soft swells of her thighs. And the scent of her… I inhale carefully, not wanting to overwhelm my senses because I don’t know if I can keep it together in here, where there are already so many scents competing for my attention.
Fuck. The first sweet whiff has my body singing with recognition. She smells like rain and caramel, fresh and decadent all at once, and it’s all I can do to stay in my seat. I want to lick her skin to find out if she tastes as good as she smells.
I lift my gaze up to her face again, my face flaming with embarrassment. “Um. Hey.”
I swallow thickly, moving my legs so she won’t see I’m half hard already. I really shouldn’t have worn these godsdamned sweatpants. I always put on sweatpants for work because shifting into my half form in jeans is uncomfortable as fuck. But this soft fabric leaves nothing to imagination, and I can’t believe I’m tenting my pants just from smelling her.
Then June smiles at me, and I forget all about my body, because she draws me in effortlessly, commanding all my attention.
“Hey, I was hoping I’d see you again.” She pushes her hair behind her ear, and it produces another whiff of her scent. “Are you on another coffee run for your boss?”
People move in the line behind her, forcing her to step closer. I could reach out to touch her, and I want to so badly, but instead, I clench my hands in my lap.I’m thinking quickly. I could lie and say that Stella has me running errands, but I don’t want to make her sound like a too-demanding boss who’d send her employees for coffee every day.
“No.” I decide on the truth, no matter how weird it might sound to June. “I, uh, I was hoping to run into you again.”
Her eyes widen at my confession, and I curse myself for a fool. I should have been more subtle. I’ll only frighten her by admitting I staked out her favorite coffee shop.
But after a moment, she smirks. “Well, I guess we’re even now.”
I blink. “Huh?”
“I tried to stalk you at the radio station,” she reminds me. “So it’s only fair. And I’m really glad you’re here.”
She touches my shoulder lightly, and I freeze. June removes her hand immediately and sends me a worried look. I shake my head as if to say she did nothing wrong, but the awkwardness of the moment is almost enough to send me running for the door.
How the fuck am I supposed to do this? How do people date and touch each other and endure all this fuckingnoise?
“I’ll just grab my coffee,” June says softly. “And we can get out of here. Give me a minute.”
