Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 84871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84871 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Tate’s chipper voice starts telling the barista our order. I remain standing in place, admiring the view, when a police cruiser pulls into a parking spot next to the Jeep. The same tight feeling I get inside my chest whenever I draw her forms in the hope it might actually be her.
Stupidly, I look for her in every cop car I see.
Always.
The police officer climbs out of the vehicle, dressed in a crisp navy-blue uniform. Immediately, I recognize the familiar, gorgeous face and my heart stutters. Somehow with no makeup and her blond hair pulled into a severe bun, she’s more beautiful than ever.
Maybe it’s the mountain behind her.
Maybe it’s because she’s doing what she loves.
Whatever it is, I feel lucky as fuck to witness it.
Someone gets out on the other side, but it’s not her usual partner she’s with. It’s a kid—maybe thirteen or fourteen—who climbs out and follows after her.
They’re coming into the coffee shop.
The door opens and Sloane steps inside. Even when she’s frowning and in police mode, she still turns heads wherever she goes. Does she realize she has such magnetism? What would she do if she knew how twisted up I am over her?
Like the good cop she is, she scans the small coffee shop, looking for threats and familiar faces in one quick sweep. When her gaze finds mine, her features soften and a smile tugs at her lips. I don’t know how I managed to earn it, but I’m thankful as fuck to see it nonetheless.
“Officer Do-Good,” I say, sauntering over to her. “Sorry, but they’re fresh out of donuts.”
The kid beside her sniggers. “Aunt Sloane hates donut jokes.”
Aunt Sloane?
“Hey,” I say to the kid. “I’m Dempsey, your aunt’s favorite delinquent.”
She rolls her eyes at me, making her seem closer to PMU hoodie girl’s age than my mom’s. “Dempsey’s trouble,” she whispers to her nephew. “Avoid it whenever you can.”
He grins and I shrug like being a troublemaker is all I know. She steps closer, filling my nostrils with her fruity scent, and squeezes my shoulder. “Keep an eye on Kaden while I order our drinks?”
For a brief moment, I see us as equals. I’m a friend helping a friend. A man looking after another woman’s family.
Not a kid.
Not a troublemaker.
Someone worthy of someone like her.
“Oh, hey,” Tate greets, handing me my caramel macchiato. “There’s a table opening up by the window. It’s a four-seater. You guys can sit with us.”
This earns us a wide, thankful grin from Sloane. Suddenly, I’m really fucking happy I’m in a coffee shop. If Sloane comes here a lot, you better believe it I’ll figure out a way to like the stuff if only to get to see her more often than I currently do.
Tate snags the table and quickly cleans if off with a paper napkin. He takes one of the comfy armchairs. I decide to sit on the love seat, wondering if Sloane will choose to sit by me or not. Kaden sits in the other armchair, making my heart rate kick up with anticipation of where she’ll be forced to sit.
“PMU girl looked around your age,” Tate says as he sips his iced coffee. “Oh my God. Heaven.”
I laugh at his orgasmic expression as I sample my own drink. I’m stealing a peek at Sloane’s ass in her tight work pants as I sip. “Heaven indeed.”
“You love it? I knew it!” Tate sets his drink down to clap. “I knew I’d make a believer out of you!”
The drink actually does taste okay. I could definitely drink the whole thing. My appreciation isn’t for the coffee, though. It’s for Sloane Thurman’s perfect, smooth curves.
“What about if we have a session?” Tate asks. “Just me, you, and Nathan. I could act as mediator.”
Buzzkill, man. Fucking buzzkill.
“Why would you want to torture yourself?” I take another sip of the sweet drink and shake my head.
“Helping people is not torture,” he says with a huff. “It makes me happy.”
Before we can dive deeper into the conversation, Sloane arrives. She eyes the only open seat and then sits beside me. My spine straightens as I’m quickly aware of her proximity. She leans forward to hand over a jug of chocolate milk and a pastry to Kaden.
“Where’s my pastry?” I ask Tate, arching a brow.
“Drink your coffee and you can have dessert after.”
Sloane laughs, soft and breathily. “Is he always this bossy?”
“Always,” I say as Tate says, “Never.”
This causes Kaden to cackle with laughter, clearly finding his new coffee friends amusing.
“You working today?” I ask Sloane, casually letting my arm stretch out over the sofa behind her.
“Headed that way after.” She sips on her drink that looks just like mine. When she notices my staring, she holds her mug out. “Cheers to liking the same coffee. Is that a caramel macchiato?”