Roman (Cold Fury Hockey 7)

"Who's Tink?" I ask, confused.

"The guy behind the counter," she explains. "He's not much on manners, but he makes a fantastic cup of coffee. He got out of prison about three months ago and was having a hard time landing a job."

"Prison?" I ask, totally stunned she has a felon working here.

With my daughter.

She nods and says gravely, "Murder. Just went nuts one day and slaughtered his entire family."

"What?" I say as I stand and look wildly behind me for the kid behind the counter who served my tea. He's nowhere to be seen, and my imagination kicks into overdrive. What if he's in back with Lexi?

"Relax," Miss Mack says to me as she lays a hand on my arm, and my head snaps to her. "I'm just kidding. Although he did murder a squirrel once."

"A squirrel?" I say weakly as I sink back onto the stool.

With a nod, she winks and leans in. "He was driving after having a few beers one night, a definite no-no in my book, and a squirrel darted out in front of him. You see, Tink loves animals and he jerked the wheel hard to avoid hitting it, all to no avail. The squirrel got flattened and Tink ran off the road, took out two mailboxes, and mowed down a crape myrtle tree. He lost his license for driving while impaired and I think spent the night in jail. But the point being, I'll talk to Tink and ask him to have a little more respect toward the customers. He tries hard, honestly, and just needs some guidance."

My mouth is hanging open as I listen to her story, and I can't tell if she's still pulling my leg. All I can do is mutter, "I think that would be good."

I reach out and take my cup of tea, bring it to my lips, and blow on it a second before I taste it. It's delicious and I take another sip before setting it down. My eyes slide over to Georgia Mack, still sitting there, and still watching me with an amused smile on her face.

"Is there something else you wanted?" I ask cautiously, careful not to offend Lexi's boss but also feeling oddly unsettled by her presence.

"Just waiting to see if that stick up your butt got jostled loose by my story about Tink," she offers with a shrug. "I'm thinking not."

"Stick up my butt?" I ask dumbly, even as I sit straighter on my stool, which probably only verifies her perception of me.

"You need to relax, Brian," she coos at me, reaching a hand out sparkling with rings and placing it on my shoulder. It's light but warm, and she gives me a squeeze. "Your daughter has quite an electric personality, one I'm sure you'll start to realize can be downright off-putting at times, sort of like me. I'm sure Lexi's dialed it back a notch, you know, being nervous to meet you and all, but you're going to have to loosen up a bit if you want to have a relationship with her. That girl is balls to the wall, if you know what I mean."

I can't help it. My nose actually wrinkles slightly over her "balls to the wall" comment, which is not a term I'd like to hear used to describe my daughter. Of course, Georgia takes note of my expression and throws her head back in a deep laugh, which much to my consternation causes the gap in her dress to separate and reveal more of her cleavage to me. The consternation is because my eyes are helplessly drawn there and held fascinated by the roundness of her breasts and the fact that she has freckles splattered across her chest.

When my eyes drag upward, I find her staring at me with that same amused smile, her eyes glinting with mischief. I glare at her and pick my tea up to take another sip.

"Total stick up your butt," she says as she pushes off the stool and hops to the ground. I see she can't be much taller than five feet, which means I'd tower over her if I were standing.

"But here's a suggestion," she continues as I hold her gaze. "Maybe next time you come in, lose the fancy duds. There's no one to impress here, certainly not Lexi, who likes you for you. And try not to read too much into it when people say words like dude and balls. We're all sort of just casual around here, okay?"

I don't reply but simply stare at her.

"Okay?" she repeats, and I'm irritated that her southern drawl now sounds as sweet as sugar cookies, and Christ...I kind of like it.

"Okay," I mutter as I nod at her. "Point taken."

"Excellent," she says as she grins at me. "Now, Lexi will be on in a few minutes, and I've got some paperwork to handle in my office. Enjoy your evening, Brian."

"Thank you," I reply softly, not knowing if I like this woman or despise her, but really not caring. I doubt I'll ever see her again, because it's not like I'm going to hang out here.

Georgia starts to turn away, but then immediately pivots back toward me. She leans in and nudges her arm into my side, tilts her head my way, and whispers, "And Lexi didn't tell me her father was so hot. I'm going to have to ream her a new one for that."

I barely get to register the fragrance of her perfume, which is subtle and light--maybe jasmine--before she spins away and is gone. I blink several times, watching her as she retreats to her office, and ponder what she just said to me.

She called me hot.

I don't think I've ever been called that in my life. I mean, I'm almost sixty-one years old, and while I'm confident enough to think I look much younger than that, it's not something that's ever really mattered to me before. I take great care of myself. I cycle thirty miles at least four times a week, and I lift weights. You could put my body up there with many men half my age, and I'd hold my own for sure. But I don't do that to gain notice by others. I do it to keep myself healthy and in shape.

Hot?

Seriously, that's so ludicrous I could almost laugh if I could just forget that damn cleavage staring me in the face.

Christ almighty, Brannon. Do not go there. That woman can't be more than forty and is far too young for you.

Besides, that...I'm far too set in my ways to even consider dating a younger woman.

I turn back to my tea and take another sip as I eyeball the scone staring at me. My vanity tells me to ignore it, because Miss Georgia Mack said I was hot, but then common sense prevails and I pick it up.

I've got nothing to prove to her or to anyone, and I certainly don't care what she thinks of me. I take a bite, hold back a moan of satisfaction, because it may be the best thing I've ever tasted, and resolve that if I come back here--and that's a big if--I'll make sure to wear casual clothes.

Chapter 7

Roman

I had to look up the address to The Grind, but when I saw it was in the historic Five Points neighborhood of Raleigh, I immediately knew where it was. It's just pushing half past seven and the tiny customer parking lot behind the connected row of businesses on Glenwood Avenue is already filled. I have to parallel park two streets over and I'm practically frozen and wis

hing I was a coffee drinker by the time I reach the glass double doors that lead inside.

I hadn't really paid attention to this place before when I was in the area. There's a fantastic pizza joint to the right of it that I've eaten at a few times, but somehow I've never really noticed the two-story stucco building done in peach with dark brown shutters framing the front windows.

When I open the door to The Grind and walk in, I'm immediately assaulted by the funky decor, which is not how I thought a coffee shop would look. Granted, the only one I'd been in before was a Starbucks, and that was with a girl I'd briefly dated--okay slept with a few times--but it was nothing like this. Mismatched furniture, a riot of colors, and crazy music coming from the corner of the establishment.

My head turns toward the sound and my jaw drops as I see Lexi sitting on a low stool atop a small wooden stage. She's strumming a ukulele while she sings into a microphone mounted on a stand. Even more astounding is that she's singing "The Lion Sleeps Tonight." At first glance it seems ridiculous to me that she plays the ukulele, but I'm practically struck dumb by her voice. It's a combination of Stevie Nicks's raspy tones with Adele's rich smoothness, and she layers the notes and the words to the song with the slightly higher pitch of the ukulele beautifully.

I step farther into the coffee shop to get away from the door as people walk in and out, and merely watch as Lexi sings. She's wearing what she had on in the arena this morning, and the ripped jeans and lacy top seem to fit perfectly with the sexy woman who sings like a Grammy-winning star and plays the ukulele like it's the most fashionable thing in the world.

I'm fucking entranced.

As is everyone else, I note. My gaze sweeps the interior, and everyone's raptly listening to Lexi as they sip their overpriced java and lounge on ostentatiously mismatched furniture. Every single person has a smile on their face, tapping their feet to the beat of her song and swaying back and forth with the melody.

I look back to her and watch her mouth move near the microphone. Her eyes are soft, and she's got a sweet smile as her gaze roams over the audience with confidence and affection. Her eyes land on someone near the stage, and for just a moment she seems to sing only to that person. A flood of what might be possessiveness wells up inside me as my eyes slide to where she's looking, and I'm dumbfounded to see Brian Brannon sitting at a pub table near the stage. He's smiling back at Lexi, drumming his fingers on the table near a small teacup.