He frowns. “Which one is he?”
Grinning wide, I stand and start collecting the dishes. He jumps up and jostles the plates out of my hands. “You cooked. I’ll clean this up.”
“I’ll heat the crumble and make some coffee.”
“Sounds good, buttercup.” He stops and kisses my cheek on his way to the kitchen.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Serena
Those who know the storm, dread the calm before it. -Chinese Proverb
Yikes, that’s more ominous than I was expecting this afternoon.
I click out of Instagram and slip my phone in my jacket pocket. My gaze searches the cafe for a glimpse of Emily.
Nope, not yet.
For once, I’m here before her.
“Se-LEAN-AH!” someone yells.
That can’t be.
“Two hot Ventis, room for cream for Selena!”
Yup, that’s me.
I trot up to the counter and grab the coffees, stopping to pour cream in both and grab a handful of sugar packets for Emily, then hurry back to the table I claimed.
Even though my jacket is prominently draped over one of the chairs, a guy’s sitting on the opposite side when I return.
A wide grin spreads over his face as I approach, like he’s been waiting for me.
“Oh, excuse me. My friend and I are sitting here.”
He slides his gaze over me in a distinctly creepy way. I scan the cafe for an unoccupied table to relocate to.
Nothing. The place is packed. He pulls his long, muscled frame out of the chair and sweeps his arms toward the table as if he’s granting me some sort of gift. “Just wanted to say hello, pretty girl.”
I’m so not in the mood to be hit on by some random clown today. “Uh, thanks.”
Don’t entertain him. Stare him straight in the eyes so he knows not to fuck with you.
Easier to say than do. My face flames hot, but I pull my shoulders back and drill him with my not interested stare. “Anything else?” I infuse as much boredom into my tone as possible and cross my arms over my chest.
A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Nah, that’s it.” I take in his black track suit, close-cropped black hair, and inked hands. He could’ve walked off the set of a low-budget gangster movie.
Over his shoulder, I catch sight of Emily and wave to her.
My unwanted visitor swaggers away and out the door, empty-handed.
“Who was that?” Emily asks, turning to watch him through the plateglass windows.
“Some creep who thought his empty compliment would be the highlight of my day.”
She trills with laughter and throws herself into the chair across from me. “Creeps gonna creep.”
“Isn’t that the truth.”
“Gimmie.” She grabs the coffee and takes a deep sip. “Thank you for this and thanks for waiting for me too.”
“No problem. Coffee’s got cream in it, no sugar.” I nudge the sugar packets her way.
She rips into several packets at once and dumps them in her cup. “So, how’s the silver wolf?”
I sputter on my sip of coffee. “I thought the expression was silver fox?”
“Oh no. A man that fine is a wolf. He had all those sexy predator vibes going on. Jesus, Serena. The way he kept his eyes on you at Libby’s play, I thought my own panties were going to burst into flames.”
I snicker.
“I’m serious. You know how some people get second-hand cringe when something so embarrassing happens to someone else you want to melt into the floor? Well, the way that man looked at you gave me second-hand singe. So yes, he’s a silver wolf.”
“Dear…God…” I gasp between fits of laughter.
“Unless silver wolf has some weird porno connotation I’m not aware of.” She wrinkles her nose. “Does it? I can’t keep track of the kids’ lingo these days.”
I laugh even harder. “Grayson is fine.”
“See, even his name is sexy.”
“It is.” I can’t help grinning. “So is he.”
She leans over the table. “Did you…finally?”
The question squelches my laughter. I don’t want her to be disappointed in me. “I know it’s not the six-month wait time on our list of dating rules, but—”
She holds up her hand to cut me off. “I’m considering amending that rule. Continue.”
My cheeks warm and I glance down at my cup, suddenly not eager to share any intimate details. “It was good. Really, really good.”
“Ahhh.” She wags her finger under my nose. “You don’t want to elaborate. That means you really like him.”
“I do. We got snowed in at his place last weekend and it was nice.”
“Snowed in, huh? Is that code for wild sex romp?”
“Yes, but we did other stuff too.” I give her a brief rundown of our blissfully domestic weekend of cooking and movie marathons.
“Very sweet. He seems good for you.” She waves her fingers in the air between us. “Even though there are some challenges.”
“We talked about that a little bit too.”
“He can actually communicate?” She raises her eyebrows. “Rare.”
“Eh, he needs a little prodding, but yes.”
“Okay.” She takes a long, dramatic pause and angles her body into a prim pose, signaling there’s nothing proper about whatever she’s about to say. “How are the orgasms? Or I should I ask, are there any orgasms?”