Perfect Chaos(4)

“Tristan, you’re looking make-out worthy, as usual.” I lowered my voice so it sounded kind of husky and just loud enough for him to hear. “If only I could be your coffee cup.”

He definitely caught what I said because his brows raised a minute amount and the corner of his mouth twitched. A blue streak of my hair fell forward over my shoulder and he reached out and lifted it, caressing the long, fine hairs between his fingers.

“Blue?”

Yesterday, I had pink streaks, but blue was Tristan’s favorite color according to his choice in car and the dress shirts he always wore. I really didn’t give a shit what color my hair was, except I’d never do orange. Didn’t liked the color and besides, it would clash with my green eyes.

I winked. “Was feeling a little blue last night.” Actually, that wasn’t a lie. My friends Emily and Kat were out of town, and our usual Sunday brunch at my place was put on hold. And Deck … yeah, he was on some dangerous mission overseas which I hated. My life was supposed to be easier with him gone—and it was without him watching over me—and yet, it wasn’t because I worried about him. I missed him constantly, but when he was here, it was … painful.

I glanced over my shoulder at Rylie. “Tristan’s usual, babe.”

“My girl can’t be blue.” My girl? That was new. He could call me whatever the hell he wanted as long as I got what I needed. “I may have to do something about that.” My hair slipped from his grasp as he reached into his pocket, pulled out a five and slid it toward me. “Dinner?”

Finally. Progress. I put my hand on my hip and smiled. “You’re smokin’ hot, but dating you is against the rules of the establishment.” Tristan was a challenge, and therefore he’d like a challenge. Kissing his feet, so to speak, just wouldn’t hack it with this guy.

“Isn’t this your coffee shop?”

How did he know that? I didn’t have it posted anywhere and had never mentioned it. I was betting he had some poor sap with ankle-length dress pants sitting at a crappy desk in an office with no windows researching chicks Tristan wanted to fuck. “My place, my rules. Dating clients is at the top of the list of ‘fuck no’.”

He laughed and it was a rumbling sound which, if I was interested, would’ve done something for me. I wasn’t. At least, not in any sexual capacity. “Clients? It’s a coffee shop.”

Asshole. A coffee shop was a business and mine was damn successful. I slid my hand across the counter and took his five, making certain my finger brushed against his. Then I hit the cash button and the drawer bounced open with a loud ding. “And I take pride in my work place. Besides, if you sucked in bed, I’d have to ask you not to come here again. You know … reminders and really awkward.”

He placed his palms on the counter and his playful smile disappeared. “I do suck in bed, Georgie.” His voice lowered as he leaned closer. “I suck until you scream and beg.”

I bit my lower lip, the five-dollar bill still in my grasp now crumpled in a ball, and despite not wanting him, that was friggin’ hot.

“That won’t be happening.”

I yelped at the deep, familiar voice behind Tristan and my heart took off at break-neck speed. My body became a fucked-up concoction of relief that he was back safe, sexual heat and nerves sparking. Deck being near me was a love-hate thing. Jesus, my life was a fireball rolling down a really dangerous path.

Rylie giggled as she slid Tristan’s espresso across the counter then pinched my butt. I shot my gaze to her and glared; she smiled, her pearl-white teeth gleaming. She was laughing her ass off at me: One for yelping like a girlie-girl and two for being caught unaware by Deck. I hated that, but Deck could sneak up on a friggin’ mouse. “You could’ve warned me,” I mumbled to her.

She shrugged. “Could’ve, but that’s no fun.”

“Bitch.”

She laughed then hesitantly smiled at Deck. “Hey, Deck.”

Although his eyes remained on me, he nodded to Rylie. And when Deck looked at me, it was like he was touching my entire body with his hands—penetrating. Shit, that word and Deck so had to stay clear of one another.

I pushed the ball of money into the till, grabbed a coin then shut the cash drawer with my hip. I passed the change to Tristan who was now half-turned and looking at Deck.

Deck was about an inch taller than Tristan and more muscular, yet still lean and agile-looking. He had tatts running down both arms and a tribal design crawling up the side of his neck. His black t-shirt fit snug to the hills and valleys of his muscles, and I knew underneath that shirt was a plethora of hard abs. I had, after all, woken up in his bed after he’d hauled me out of some bar or party. Of course, Deck always crashed on the couch, but I’d seen him with his shirt off a number of times. Sometimes, I wish I hadn’t because it certainly didn’t make my life any easier.