Page 23 of South of The Skyway

“Your friend from the park.”

“And the bar,” she corrected.

“That’s right.”

The woman was magnetic, that electric charge between us drawing me forward, closing the distance. She ran her fingers through her hair, straightening the pieces around her face. A delicious shade of pink caressed her cheeks. Some carnal corner in my mind wondered what other colors I could draw out of her, how many effects I could have on that perfect little body.

Aiming for casual, Brexley quipped, “Forgot her that fast?”

“I was a bit preoccupied staring at you.”

“I bet you say that to every short skirt you meet.”

“Nah, I usually assess my options pretty thoroughly.”

“Gross.” Her lips twitched.

Not my best comeback, but as long as she was smiling, I hadn’t fucked anything up too badly. “You were the standout from the minute I stepped in the door.”

“You flatter, Mr. Rhodes.”

“I’m authentic, Ms—”

“Snows,” she supplied, evidently amused.

“BrexleySnows?”

“If you crack a joke, I’m changing my number.”

“It’s a fine last name,” I assured her, trying not to laugh.

“For the love of God, don’t tell me you’ll change it.”

“Not yet.” What the fuck was I doing? She was obviously too young for me, that fact painfully obvious now that the layers of makeup had been peeled away.

“You’re a shameless flirt, aren’t you?”

“For you? Absolutely.” Okay, my mouth adamantly insisted on not staying closed. “Can you blame me? You bewitched me,Brex. No shame in that.”

On a long-suffered sigh, she turned to her friend behind the bar and introduced me to Wrenly, keeper of the coffee and queen of the baristas. After a string of pleasantries, I learned Wren had been with Brexley and Noel from the beginning, almost five years ago. She’d come along for every step of the road and, should they expand, would manage the current branch through the transition. Brex wasn’t just the most electric physical connection I could remember. She was freaking sharp. Wren said so too.

“Wren, can we sample the new roast? You like coffee, I assume?”

“Uh—” No. I mean, perhaps with my body weight in sugar and covered in whipped cream. But like an imbecile, eager to make her happy, I said, “Yeah, of course. What do you got?”

“New roasters trying to get us to stock their stuff.”

“Put me to work.”

“Careful what you wish for.”

I grinned, eyeing her up and down, drinking in those endless legs, lean waist, and drop-dead baby blues. Fuck, had anyone ever said no to those? “What do you have in mind?”

ELEVEN

BREXLEY

The subtle jangle of her metal tags preceded Royal’s unceremonious arrival on the scene. As if Rhyett’s last question summoned her like a beacon for voluntary pets. She skidded to a clumsy halt by his feet, tongue lolling as she looked up at him, brimming with expectation.

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