There was a light knock on the front door and Ellie looked up from her work, still chewing on a bite of orange cranberry deliciousness. That would be Ben, the weekend cook she hired when she added breakfast items to the menu. Blowing air through her mouth and widening her eyes, she wandered back through the darkened dining room to let him in. She didn’t really like working with Ben because he liked working with her a little too much.
“Morning,” he said with a bright smile on his wide face.
“Morning, Ben.”
“Did you have a good week?”
“I sure did.” She learned fast not to give him any details of what constituted a good week. All he needed was one snippet of her personal life to glom on hard and not let go. “I’m gonna get the counter stocked for morning rush,” she said, keeping the conversation focused on work. “Will you set up in the kitchen?”
Ben sighed. “I sure will.”
As the sun blazed to life outside and the inside of the café started to smell delicious, Ellie found herself wondering how bad James’ hangover was. And how sick he was going to be when he woke up.
Oh, crap…
Did he throw up last night? Her heart pounded and she paused, trying to remember if she’d left him on his back or his side. What if he’d thrown up while he slept and choked to death?
Her stomach flip-flopped with worry while her head went to work admonishing her for stressing unnecessarily. James was a big boy. He could take care of himself.
She instantly flashed back to feeling his body pressed against hers. The very real, very impressive erection straining through his pants.
Hell yeah, he’s a big boy.
She was still grinning when her ‘time to open the joint’ alarm went off. Before long, she was lost in a swarm of weary customers and friendly conversation. Ellie made it her business to know her regulars and give new customers a reason to come back. She memorized orders and life details and asked questions about important stuff in people’s lives when they came in.
It wasn’t a business tactic.
It was just the way she was wired.
As the morning rush began to dwindle, the doors jangled open and Ellie’s jaw dropped. There, standing in the doorway, sunglasses on and hair mussed, was James. He waved and her mouth clamped shut as she finished the coffee order for her last customer.
James sidled up to the counter, looking sexy as hell with his sunglasses and scruffy, screw-it-I’m-not-gonna-shave-this-morning beard.
“It’s not Sunday,” Ellie said, widening her eyes and trying to ignore her jackhammering heart. “Did you lose track? I never see you in here unless it's Sunday.”
“Not confused,” he murmured and ran a hand through his hair. “I just wanted to thank you for your help last night.” He raked a hand across his cheek, then leaned on the counter and lowered his voice. “I found your note.”
“Good. I didn’t want you to worry about your motorcycle. It’s still there, safe and sound. I drove past Hurricane’s on my way here this morning and saw it.”
James nodded. “I saw it, too.” He sucked in his lips and rubbed the back of his neck. “Hey, listen.” He swallowed and ran a hand through his hair again. “The details around last night…I’m a little foggy. I remember…” He lowered his voice again and leaned in really close. “Did we…?”
How was it fair that he could look so good after a night like the one he had?
The answer was easy. It wasn’t fair. Not at all.
“Nope.” She stuck out her pinky finger. “Scout's honor. I didn’t take advantage. Your dignity is intact.”
James loosed a throaty chuckle. “I don’t think the Scouts stick out pinky fingers like that.”
She looked down at her finger then dropped her hand to the counter. “No, I guess they probably don’t.”
With a shake of his head, he pulled his glasses down so she could look into his eyes. His horribly bloodshot eyes. “Well, my friend, from what I can remember about last night, any man would count his lucky stars to lose his dignity with you.”
Ellie couldn’t stop the blush working its way across her face any more than she could stop the feeling of happiness working its way through her body.
Of course, he didn’t really mean it.
He was being nice.
Or he was being a flirt.
Either way, she liked it.
A line had formed behind James while they were talking. “Well, hey,” she said. “Let me get you a coffee. Might take the edge off the headache.”
“Bless you, friend.”
He’d used that word twice now. Friend. Was he trying to make some kind of point?
“Black, right?”
“You know it.” The smile that stretched across his lips looked all kinds of forced.
Of course. He wasn’t there to flirt. He was there to be nice. Because even with his heart broken and making a million bad life decisions—not to mention nursing what had to be a ferocious hangover—James Moore was nice. When Ellie handed him the coffee, she noticed his knuckles were bruised and broken open. Had they been like that the night before? She hadn’t noticed.
“Thanks, Ellie,” he said, sauntering toward the door. “You’re the best.”
“Back atcha, my friend.”
Ellie tried her best to put James out of her mind. Sure, the night with him had been fun, but imagining him as the perfect man was better than getting to know him and finding out he was just like every other human with a penis…a self-focused asshole.
Chapter Five
James
James hopped into his truck, a black beast that put his brother Ian’s Tundra to shame, and made the short drive to Hurricane’s. The Ducati sat where he’d left it, gleaming like the masterpiece of engineering it was. Pulling out his phone, he sent a text to Oliver and Ethan.
Morning, bitches. Meet me at the bar.
The bouncing lines appeared almost
