Page 36 of Coach
“Does, um, my boss live there?” I asked, thinking of his seemingly endless number of designer suits and watches.
“Yeah, both Konstantin and Mikhail live on Millionaire’s Row.”
“Do they own more businesses than the pool hall?”
Saul leaned back in his chair after finally finishing his whole plate—bread and all—and there was something a little guarded about his face then.
“The Novikoff family has a lot of different streams of income.”
“That makes sense. I mean, the pool hall is busy. But it’s kind of cheap. I don’t think anyone could be a millionaire on one pool hall.”
“How has working for them been?”
“Honestly, one of the least stressful jobs I’ve ever had.”
“Really?” Saul asked, brows drawing together.
“That surprises you?”
“I don’t know the brothers well, but well enough to know they’re intense. And exacting.”
“That’s accurate,” I agreed. “But they’re not really the kind of bosses to breathe down your neck. I honestly barely even speak to them. Unless something breaks during my shift, they communicate their needs via a whiteboard in the supply closet.”
“Have you made any work friends?” he asked as we both rose from our seats, each reaching for plates and empty cider bottles.
“Not really, no. My work is pretty solitary. And it’s really just Irina—who doesn’t seem to like me—and Kate and Danielle. And they just don’t seem to want anything to do with me. It’s okay. I mean, don’t get me wrong; I want to make friends here in town. But they don’t have to be work friends.”
I rinsed the dishes.
Saul loaded them into the dishwasher with the confidence and competence of a man who’d done so many times before.
Which was way hotter than it had any right to be.
“Alright,” Saul said, taking one final drag from his bottle of hard cider. “Time for dessert.”
“Oh, my God. You couldn’t possibly still be hungry,” I said, eyes going round.
“And yet,” he said, eyes going heavy-lidded as he moved to step in front of me.
My belly flipped.
My sex clenched.
My body knew what was going to happen before my mind could wrap itself around things.
Saul’s hands slid up the outside of my thighs, then his fingertips dipped just under the material of my shorts and panties, drawing them downward. They pooled around my ankles, and I stepped out without even being conscious of telling myself to do so.
Hands back at my hips, he pulled until I was off my feet, until I was suddenly seated.
The cold bite of the counter had nothing on the heat in his eyes as he looked down at me.
His fingers glided down my thighs, grabbing me behind the knees. One firm tug and I slid forward, my hips perched right on the edge, knees parted wide before I could even think to protest. Not that I would have, could have. Not when he was looking at me like hunger personified, like I was the meal he was dying to savor.
Then he was lowering down, was angling that same lookupat me.
His hands gripped the backs of my thighs, anchoring me.
Then his head was shifting, his lips pressing a kiss to the inside of my knee.
