Page 98 of Average Joe

I hustled Bruce into my Subi and reached Pink Sweets sixteen minutes later.

I parked next to Lilly’s Charger and stared across the street, disbelieving.

Thank goodness I was alone because the litany of profanities I spewed would’ve caused others’ ears to bleed.

The building itself was beautiful. Blacks, grays, and industrial steel. Every element looked repurposed, even the bricks that trimmed the bottom floor. Put my little shack to shame, for sure.

One shirtless man worked the window. Muscles. Tan. Chiseled jaw. Faded jeans that hung dangerously low on his waist.

Another stood outside leaning against a Harley. Tan. Muscles. Beard. He smiled. Chatted with the ladies as they passed. He, too, was shirtless. Black riding pants hugged his physique like a glove.

The line stretched around the building, five cars deep, two of which were minivans carrying three or more women each.

The coup de grâce? The name. Bold, bright, in-your-face letters.

Average Joe.

Average fucking Joe.

Fuck.

Speak of the devil. Joe stepped around the corner of the building, wearing a smile I could’ve spied a mile away. He looked my direction, then to the guy on the motorcycle. His head whipped my way again and then, jaywalking laws be damned, he jogged across two lanes of traffic.

I cracked the windows for Bruce and stepped onto the pavement, shielding my eyes from the sun as I tried to make sense of the scene.

“Welcome home, gorgeous,” he drawled, assessing me with a hungry gaze.

I was irate, but no one would know by the way “Joe” left my lips, breathy and desperate because, sweet vanilla latte, the man was a sight for horny eyes. Those thick lips landed on mine, those talented hands slid to my ass, and with a grunt, I was lifted into strong arms and pinned against my car. Joe kissed me dizzy, and I reciprocated with five days’ worth of pent-up frustration.

When we broke for air, he cupped my face and, forehead to mine, whispered, “Fuck, I missed you.”

Bruce scratched and whined at the window my back was pressed against. Joe laughed, set me on my feet, then opened my car door and greeted my dog with coos and cuddles and panty-melting tenderness.

I turned again to face the scene across the street, and the line had increased by two vehicles.

Bruce whined when Joe secured him back inside the car.

“Quite a spectacle, huh?” He hung an arm over my shoulder, tucking me against his hard body. “Fucking genius, don’t ya think?”

Average Joe. I’d told Joe he was average all those weeks ago.

Unholy heat blasted through me.

He wouldn’t. Couldn’t.

But, damn, that shit-eating grin on his face told me he had.

“You did this.” I spun out of his hold.

“Me and the guys.” Joe crossed his arms, settled back on his heels, chin high, proud.

“What guys, and why?” I mimicked his pose, chin raised, pissed.

“Guys that care about you and your girls.” That sharp gaze sliced from Average Joe to me, then with a wink, he declared. “And because you said I couldn’t do it.”

I’d said he couldn’t do it a million years ago before I’d known better. Before I’d knownhim.

The bastard had the nerve to boop my nose with his forefinger. “Hope you’re ready to bring your A game ’cause it’s on, neighbor.”

---