First

Catherine’s high pitched squeal of delight distracts me from the traitorous thoughts my overactive libido is trying to discuss with what little part of my rational brain is left. She’s waving wildly and I’m not the only person in the café who’s grinning at her.

The sight of the tiny, willowy blond next to a heavily tatted man who has lightly wrapped an arm around her shoulders to keep her from bounding out of the booth is something I’m used to. Wherever Catherine goeth, Dallas Miller is not far behind.

I’m actually fond of Dallas, which is funny considering he’s Jake’s best friend. I’m not sure how those two men don’t get into fights all the time. Their personalities are exact opposites. Where Jake’s controlled and boring, Dallas is relaxed and funny. The only thing that seems to really connect them now, after the death Mr and Mrs Jacobs, is Catherine. Jake’s main goal in life is to protect her and Dallas must be in agreement with him.

‘It’s about time you got here,’ Catherine says as Jake and I sit on the opposite side of the table. ‘We were about to order you something disgusting.’

Dallas snorts and Catherine turns on him, her nose scrunching as she attempts to stare him down. She can only hold the glare for a few seconds before she cracks a smile. Dallas shakes his head. ‘Good try, brown eyes. Almost got to ten seconds that time.’

She sticks her tongue out at him. He responds by flicking some of his water at her.

Trapped on the inside of the booth’s bench, I cast a sideways glance at Jake, wondering if he’s noticing their interactions. Freshmen year Catherine told me how she had the hots for Dallas, but he’s never seemed to reciprocate her affection. I mean, he flirts, but that’s nothing new.

Dallas is better than Belgian chocolate. A woman gets one tiny taste of him and she’s ruined for life. He’s gone through plenty of women, none for any real length of time. Catherine knows this, but she still can’t resist him. She’s got plans for some kind of happily ever after with him, plans I can’t even begin to comprehend. I mean, who wants to be in a committed relationship at our age? We’re about to graduate from college. The best is yet to come. Besides, commitment is nothing more than a slow death. Mom and Dad’s marriage proved that.

Despite all of those truths, Catherine’s mind is made up. She’s working all her charms on Dallas and seeing them in person right now, I wonder if it’s starting to work. There’s definite heat between them, something I can’t quite put my finger on but can sense in the air. Someday, all that smouldering tension will catch and the fireworks will go up brighter than the Fourth of July.

And judging by Jake’s focus on the menu, he will never even notice.

‘Well, tin man,’ I joke while snagging one edge of the menu from his hand. I peer over his shoulder at the selection. ‘What are you having?’

‘Tin man?’ Jake frowns at me and tugs on the menu. My grip tightens.

His frown deepens to a scowl and he leans in toward me to growl, ‘Look at your own menu.’

‘There wasn’t one here,’ I argue.

I don’t realise how close our faces have come until I see the flecks of gold and near-black in his eyes. Dark blond stubble shadows his chin and cheeks, the first sign he’s off-shift. And even twisted in frustration, his lips are to-die-for …

‘Jake …’

The soft whisper of his name falling from my lips shocks us both. His fingers curl tighter against the menu and his jaw clenches. Despite all the earlier protestations and promises to myself, there is nothing I want to do more in this moment than close the distance between us …

No, no, no! We are not going down this path again!

I clear my throat. ‘Jake,’ I repeat, steadier this time. ‘Share your damn menu.’

‘No,’ he replies curtly, snapping it from my grasp.

He misses my glare thanks to his intent focus on the staples in the ce

ntre fold. Catherine, cued by our sharp tones, looks away from Dallas, sighs, and hands over hers. I accept it, one look confirming what I want. Catherine, Dallas, and I chat for a few moments until the server arrives. She takes our orders with warm efficiency. Catherine’s having French toast, Dallas an omelette, and me a pancake breakfast platter. Jake is … well, Jake.

‘Two egg whites, scrambled. Whole wheat toast, the fruit cup, and some orange juice, please,’ he requests, handing his menu over.

I make a face and Catherine laughs.

‘What?’

Jake’s leaning back in the booth, watching me with irritation.

‘The whole point of going out for breakfast is to splurge,’ I inform him, taking a sip of my water.

‘I am splurging. I never take the time at home to make just egg whites.’

‘Oh, my God, you are the most boring man alive.’

The hurt flashing through his eyes is only there for a second before he covers it up, but that second was long enough for me to see it. I almost wish I hadn’t let the insult fly.