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“It wasn’t me. The barista tripped and hit her head, and they took her to the hospital. I think maybe I should go there. I mean, I don’t know her that well, but what if she doesn’t have family nearby?”

So the blonde’s twitchiness didn’t come from pilfering cash. No, she’d been shaken up by an emergency, then returned his wallet out of a sense of duty, and now she was exhibiting a delayed response to trauma. He’d seen this before on the battlefield. Thank fuck for his own basic medical training.

“Sit down for a few minutes. Have you eaten today?”

“Eaten? I had three coffees. No…four coffees. But I don’t have time to sit down. I should… Uh, I should go.”

“There’s a juice bar here, and it has a menu of light, healthy snacks available.” Fuck, now he sounded like an infomercial. “Come and eat lunch before you leave.”

“But Macie’s on her own.”

Was Macie the barista? In the absence of additional information, Cris had to assume that she was.

“The doctors will need to evaluate her condition. You can have something to eat in the meantime.”

She didn’t protest when he put a hand on the small of her back and gently steered her toward the juice bar. The server saw him coming and hastily cleared a table near the back, and when Cris pulled out a chair, the blonde slumped into it and bit that lip again.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Lauren.”

“It’s good to meet you, Lauren. I’m—”

“Cristian. I found your billfold, remember?”

Nobody called him by his full name—for years, he’d been Cris or “Hey, asshole”—but he liked the sound of it coming from her lips.

“Yeah, Cristian.”

“I’m sorry I interrupted your workout.” She looked him up and down, taking in the jeans and T-shirt that were his outfit of choice. Suits made him feel uncomfortable. He owned one, a single-breasted Brioni, but he only wore it to funerals, and he’d been to too many of those. “Or did you already finish?”

“I’ll hit the gym later.”

Now what was he meant to say? Dropping his wallet had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, and Cris hadn’t exactly thought this through. Nor had he dated in years, not since before his divorce, although this definitely wasn’t a date. It was just lunch. And he didn’t do deep and meaningful conversations. Work took priority right now, and hook-ups were his limit. But something about Lauren had caught his eye, he couldn’t deny that, even though she wasn’t his usual type. His fuck buddies tended to be vain ice queens more interested in themselves than in him. No risk of commitment, no risk of heartbreak.

“So, what’s good here?” Lauren gave a nervous giggle. “To eat, I mean. On the menu.”

“How hungry are you?”

“Freaking starving, but I’m on a diet.” She glanced down at herself, and those cheeks turned pink again. “Not much of one, huh?”

Cris wanted to tell her not to apologise for herself, that she was beautiful just as she was, but he was worried he’d sound like a sleaze. With her looks, men probably hit on her all the time.

“Who are you trying to lose weight for?” he asked.

“I don’t understand?”

“For yourself, or for society?”

“For…” she started, then paused, and Cris knew it was a question she’d never truly considered. Which meant she dieted due to peer pressure. Which was why she was struggling. “I guess I just want to fit in.”

“Fitting into society is overrated.”

He’d learned that during his stint in the Marines, where he’d been one tiny cog in a vast machine. Or an annoying piece of grit, if you were to ask one or two of his commanding officers. He had the bad habit of speaking out when he felt it was necessary. There’d been times when he’d wanted to rebel against the whole damn system, but he’d put in eight years before he quit. It had felt like longer. Most days, he still missed his brothers-in-arms, but he didn’t miss some of the shit that had come with the job. Okay, so he still had to deal with bull in the private sector, but it was a different type of crap. Fuckin’ ad campaigns…

“But fitting into my clothes is necessary,” Lauren said. “Everything’s getting tight, and I thought that losing weight would be easier than buying a whole new wardrobe that I can’t afford anyway. I’m a comfort eater, I’m not ashamed to admit it—hello, my name is Lauren Rossi and I eat potato chips when I’m miserable—but now I have a job I enjoy, two jobs actually, and a proper home, good friends, a steady boyfriend… I guess I just like muffins too much. And now I’m rambling.” She smacked her forehead. “Sorry.”

A steady boyfriend? Well, fuck. That was disappointing. Not surprising, but disappointing. Lauren Rossi made Cris’s dick twitch, a visceral reaction he couldn’t control, but if she was already taken, he couldn’t ask her out for dinner. Or kiss those plump lips. Or throw her over a weight bench and fuck her senseless. He should have been relieved.

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