Undeniably Asher (The Colloway Brothers Book 2)(43)

Isn’t that one of the things that drew you to him in the first place?

Even though I’ve been a bit grateful for the space this week, I find I’m missing him terribly. More than I should this early in a relationship. He was out of town on Tuesday and Wednesday. Thursday nights are poker night with Conn and some other friends. Tonight he has a business dinner with Conn and Gray, so I’m having dinner with Livia when I’m done with this meeting. I’ve seen him periodically in the office for a stolen kiss here or there, but it’s not the same.

It’s not enough.

I need him inside me. I have never had this visceral physical need for a man. Remember when you were in love for the first time and you couldn’t keep your hands off each other? This is different; it’s more than that. This is…soul destroying. In either the best possible or worst possible way.

I just don’t know which way it will end.

Annihilation or salvation.

Mine or his.

Or both.

“Ms. Kingsley?”

I look up to see an extremely attractive man looking down at me. I have to blink a few times to make sure I’m not hallucinating. When I realize I’m not, I am momentarily yanked back in time.

He walks through the door and I try to pay attention to the woman with three rowdy, unruly kids currently ordering six drinks. I feel like it takes forever to make her four strawberry smoothies, hazelnut blender, extra whip, and double-shot espresso. We’re shorthanded today, so it’s just Anna and me behind the counter. The line this morning is long and people are getting irritated.

By the time he reaches the counter, I’m flustered and short-tempered.

“Hi, I’m Beck,” he says. His smile disarms me, totally taking me off guard.

“Uh, hi.”

The runway model chuckles darkly. I’ve seen him in here a few times, but he’s never spoken to me other than to place his order. I already know he’s not a creature of habit, because his order varies every single time, as does the time he comes in. Coffee, black, one day. Caramel macchiato the next. Vanilla latte, nonfat, please, another time. Not that I’ve been paying attention or anything.

“Do you have a name, beautiful?”

“Yes,” I whisper, my mind racing a million miles an hour that this beautiful creature thinks I’m beautiful.

He leans against the high counter, like he has all the time in the world and doesn’t care about the line behind him impatiently waiting for their morning caffeine fix. “And do you plan on telling me, or do I have to guess?”

We’re usually supposed to wear nametags, but I was dragging ass today and it’s still sitting at home on my dresser. I’m glad I’m behind the counter, because even my socks don’t match. One is black and one’s navy blue.

“It’s okay. I don’t bite. Much,” he says with a flirty wink.

Oh. Too bad. I blink a few times, trying to remember my name. “Uh. Alyse. My name is Alyse.”

Reaching across the strip of laminated wood separating us, he grabs my hand, bringing it to his soft lips. “Well, Alyse, now I can finally put a name with the girl I can’t stop thinking about.”

“Wow, that’s quite a pickup line,” I reply, chuckling.

He smiles sheepishly. It’s adorable and accomplishes its intent. “Did it work?”

“Yes.” I laugh, knowing I’m being way too easy. “It did.”

“Good.”

Five minutes later I watch his fine, tight ass walk out the door of Esse’s Coffeehouse with a plain vanilla coffee and my phone number, which he used later that day. That’s how my whirlwind love affair with Beck Mercado began.

The man looking at me now bears a striking resemblance to Beck. His sandy-blonde hair, strong chiseled face, and brilliant green eyes are nearly an exact replica of Beck’s. They could be twins, but I know Beck didn’t have a brother. He was an only child.

I don’t know how long I just stare at him, a barrage of unwanted memories slamming into the front of my brain at a hundred miles per hour.

Picnics by the beach.

Stargazing.

Banana splits on a Sunday afternoon.

Making out in the back alley behind Esse’s during a break.

Proclamations of love and stability and a future.

All shattered.

“Are you okay, miss?” Beck’s doppelganger asks, concern wrinkling his forehead.

“Yes. Yes, sorry. Mr. Jensen?” I ask, standing to shake his hand.

He smiles. If he was attractive before, he is simply breathtaking now. I can hardly pull my eyes away from him. My stomach flutters. This is one of the reasons I’m stuck and can’t make myself move on with someone else. A part of me is still in love with a dead man, despite what he did. I don’t want to be, but I just can’t seem to let it go.