Claim My Baby (Crescent Cove 2)

The woman put her feet down as I crawled back out from under the booth. A pair of dark jeans and black boots stopped two inches from my coffee-splattered khakis.

I knew those boots.

My gaze skipped up to the way his jeans molded to strong thighs and a bulge behind his zipper that had caused me way too many sleepless nights.

My best friend since high school tucked his thumb into his pocket and drummed his fingers lightly against his leg. “Is this a new customer service thing?”

My mouth tipped up at one corner. If he only knew what kind of service I wanted to offer. “Jerk.”

Even with the slightly burnt decaf wafting up from the floor—and covering me from knee to toes, couldn’t forget that part—there was no denying Seth Hamilton’s delicious toasted sugar and sex scent.

It was some ungodly expensive cologne. I wasn’t exactly proud of the fact that I’d gone to a department store’s counter to take an extra whiff of it. I’d hunted it down so I didn’t seem like some perv by burying my face in his chest to get a better inhale.

However, the bottled version wasn’t nearly as divine as it was on Seth. Probably had something to do with his stupid pheromones.

Or the fact that his alarmingly perfect body chemistry made everything smell good—even during that one night we spent together with his daughter up all night with a fever.

I’ve relived that night more than I care to admit. Not the awful part. I’m not a freak. But I can’t help remembering the aftermath when we melted into a heap on the couch in half-hysterical laughter from exhaustion and relief. Yeah, so I shouldn’t have noticed, but I’m human.

It wasn’t like I jumped him.

I thought about it for a hot second. To be honest, I think about it all the damn time. When you didn’t get any attention of a sexual nature, it tended to take over the whole frontal lobe. The fact that he was so delectable didn’t help. However, the idea of tilting our perfect friendship into naked time was too much to deal with. Much of my life was the same refrain.

Me lusting after my best friend. Him completely clueless. Me more than willing to let him stay in the dark. It was a pathetic song that I couldn’t stop playing.

I scrubbed my tingling palms on my thighs and noticed his untucked white dress shirt. He was still wearing a navy sport jacket so he wasn’t completely off the clock, but definitely not in sales-mode. His dark hair was tousled from the breeze off the water, a pair of mirrored aviators hid his equally dark eyes, and his perpetual scruff made my insides buzzy. Who the hell needed caffeine when Seth came into The Rusty Spoon?

Or the thoughts of me on my knees in front of said man.

Good God, pull it together, girl. I slapped my thighs to kill the last of the buzzing. “Hi.”

“Hi yourself.” He bent at the waist and I got a blast of that sugar sex. He took off his sunglasses and his eyes crinkled at the sides as he smiled. His gaze slid from me to Sage. “Two-woman job? Must be serious.”

“Hey, Pita.” Sage rolled her eyes before bunching all the towels together. “I’ll put on that pot for you.” She stood up and dropped the pile on the lunch counter so it wouldn’t drip all over the floor.

“Thanks,” I murmured.

“Wow, ten points for the full-on shatter, Ally Cat.” He helped me to a standing position, then hustled around the counter for the garbage and dragged it over to me. He must have heard the crunch and click of glass because he cupped his hands around mine and pulled them over the bin. I didn’t bother trying to save the towel, just shot the whole thing in the trash. “No cuts?”

“I’m fine, Dad.” Or I would be if he’d let me go. Because seriously, I couldn’t deal with tingles on top of mortifying coffee splatters. Not that I wasn’t used to the eternal stains that were part of being a waitress at the diner. It just seemed extra embarrassing in front of Seth.

He flipped my hands palms up then coasted the pads of his fingers over the tops. “All good.”

I curled my fingers into my palms. “Told you. The only casualty is my Chucks.”

He glanced around the garbage to my shoes. “Yeah, they’re toast.”

“No, I’ll just use them as my new mopping shoes.”

He frowned.

“What?”

“Nothing.” The little wrinkle between his brows cleared as he noticed Mrs. Diggs in the booth. “Aren’t you looking lovely, Mrs. Diggs? New workout gear?”

“Charmer.” But she preened and smoothed her bejeweled hand over the expensive designer Adidas jacket in the same orange and white of her shoes. “Nice to see someone watching after our Alison though.”

“Always.”