Pike (Sin City Saints Hockey 2)

“Yeah, I think she’s pretty great.”

“She is. You should ask her out.”

She hands me my debit card and asks for our names, writing them down on our drink cups. I slip a ten-dollar bill into the tip jar and we wait at the end of the counter, talking about Tampa’s 6–0 reaming of Nashville last night.

Once we have our drinks, we walk out of the shop and head toward my car. As soon as the door closes behind us, Dane looks at me, a question in his eyes.

“I just remembered what I overheard you and Kingston talking about. Your bet. Is the woman you’re trying to get in bed the one you were looking for?”

“Yep.”

“Really?” He scoffs, looking disgusted. “How big of an asshole are you, taking advantage of a woman who probably barely makes ends meet working at a coffee shop?”

I roll my eyes. “How is great, consensual sex taking advantage of someone? I find that all women like having multiple orgasms. Rich, poor, tall, short, curvy—”

He cuts me off. “It’s deceitful.”

“Sorry, Pastor Dane.”

He shrugs. “It’s gonna come back to bite you in the ass, dude. And I’ll be there saying I told you so.”

“I’m sure you will. Just drink your tea and shut up, Karen.”

As soon as I slide into the driver’s seat of my Escalade, Dane flips me off while staring straight ahead. I grin, ignore him, and drive us to practice.

When I return to Just Brew It a few hours later, Indie is taking orders at the cash register. I get in line and scan the large chalkboard menu that’s installed on the wall behind the front counter. I’m not in the mood for more coffee, but none of the other drinks sound good, either.

“Six bucks? For a cup of coffee?” the guy in front of me in line says. “You should be wearing a bandana and pointing a gun at me.”

“For what you ordered, yes,” Indie says. “You can get something else for less if you want.”

“Fucking robbery,” the man mutters, passing her his credit card.

“I don’t set the prices, sir,” she responds, an edge in her tone.

“Six bucks for a plastic cup with some coffee and whipped cream? I can get a coffee at McDonald’s for a buck.”

He’s got no business using that pissed off tone with Indie. Like she said, she’s just the messenger.

“Hey.” I step around so he can see my face. “The prices are right on the menu. Quit bitching and go wait for your drink.”

He’s a couple inches shorter than me, and after quickly sizing me up, he wisely stays quiet. Not that I’d actually fight him over it, but he doesn’t know that.

Indie gives him his credit card back and he moves to the waiting area. I look back to her, and she smiles at me. It hits me again just how beautiful she is. I can’t help but picture her in a sexy dress and even sexier sky-high heels, with her hair pinned up and her lips painted a perfect red. Just the image makes my cock stiffen.

I’d want Indie even if I didn’t have that ongoing bet with Kingston. The challenge is getting her to want me back.

“Hey, back for more coffee?” she asks.

“I’ll just take…” I look over at the bakery case. “A blueberry muffin.”

She pushes a few buttons on the cash register and says, “Anything else I can get you?”

“Is there a button on there for a date with you?”

That wins me another smile.

“Pike, you don’t want to go out with me.”

“I do, though.” I glance behind me and see that there’s no one else in line, so I keep trying. “And I promise I’ll show you a good time.”

Her smile slips away. “I don’t doubt it, and it’s honestly nothing against you, but I’m just getting out of a relationship. A marriage.”

“So you’re not ready to be taken out for a nice dinner with a guy who will make you laugh and then return you home with no expectations of more?”

Another smile.

“You don’t even know me,” she says.

“I know you’ve got brass balls and the mouth of a very attractive sailor.”

She laughs. “Yeah, that day at the arena was like a lit up billboard displaying every reason not to go out with me.”

“I like your fire.”

Our gazes lock and my blood pumps hard as the air between us stills for a few seconds. I want this. I want her.

“I can’t,” she says, looking down at the register. “The muffin is four fifty.”

I pass her my debit card, disappointed she said no but nowhere near ready to give up.

“Because we don’t know each other?” I ask her.

She hesitates and then says, “Yes.”

“What’s Indie short for?”

“Indira.”

“That’s beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

She passes back my debit card and the bell over the door rings as a customer enters. I turn to see two women standing behind me, both looking up at the menu as they talk about what they’re going to order.