Cyrus (The Henchmen MC 9)

She was gorgeous. She was sweet. She had a few brain cells to rub together. That was usually all it would take.

So maybe I would have to deal with my dick getting hard around her here and there, but that didn't mean shit. It didn't mean anything was going to happen. It was just how dicks sometimes worked, like it or not.

"I mean, this is Reese we're talking about, so even if you did lay it on as thick as you and I both know you're capable, she wouldn't be taking you up on the offer anyway."

"You know her, huh?" I asked, watching as the woman grabbed a red cleaning bucket, moving over to the sink to dump it, then refill it with bleach and water.

She came back, wiping the already clean counters as she went. "She has been coming in a couple times a week for years. But she's usually with her head in a book, not one for small talk."

"So... that's a no?"

"It's a... we talk about books and writing and editing and book-related stuff. All I know about her outside of that is that she has brothers that come in with her occasionally. And they're very hot. That's about it."

Then, before I could ask anything else, the door was chiming, and in she was walking.

And damn if she didn't look nervous as hell in her black leggings, black tee, and another oversized, long, but this time cream-colored, sweater. Her hair was pulled up, a few curly tendrils slipping out of their band. Her same purse was slung from her shoulder, her whole body tipped slightly to the side like it was heavy. It didn't take a genius to know it was weighed down by books again.

That, well, it was charming as hell.

"Oh, you're here," she said when her eyes landed on me, looking confused.

"Yeah, we did have a friend-date," I agreed, slipping my hands in my pockets.

"Yeah, I just thought..." she trailed off.

"That you were fucking with her," the woman at the counter supplied.

"I wasn't. I was early, so I was getting to know..."

"Daya," the woman supplied.

"Daya here. She thinks I was fucking with you. But not about showing up, about my intentions. Which are still honorable, I might add. No matter what Daya thinks," I added, sending her a smirk. "So, ice cream?" I offered, waving at the counter.

"Three scoops. One vanilla, two salted caramel," Daya supplied, already moving for a bowl. As in, a real one. Porcelain. Not takeaway. That was actually rather refreshing.

"Ah, actually..."

"Don't start that again," Daya chided as she went ahead and got what was obviously Reese's usual order. "And for your Henchmen here?"

"Cyrus," I supplied. "I guess I can try her favorite too." I ignored the small-eyeing I got from Daya, knowing that that sounded like something a guy said when they wanted in your pants. But she got my bowl as well.

"Nah," she said when we each reached for our wallets. "This one is on me. I want to see how it plays out. You don't mind if I get a big bowl of popcorn and stare for the next hour, right? No? Great!"

Reese led us over toward the front window, sitting down. "I, ah, am a bit of a people-watcher," she admitted with a shrug.

There was a moment of tense silence before I led with, "So what books are in your bag today?"

Then she fucking lit up, reached to pull them out, and went on an almost hour-length spiel about the plots, characters, atmosphere, everything. Hell, I even knew how many cats one of the authors had.

Fucking cute as hell.

It shouldn't have been a turn-on.

But it totally was.

And that was going to continue to be a problem I would have to deal with.

Because by the time an hour and a half passed, our ice cream long gone, Daya back to her scribbling some story, Reese stood, saying she had a goldfish to get home to feed.

"But this was really fun," she said with a genuine, if maybe a little shy, smile. "I think I like friendship-dates."

And fuck if I wouldn't keep giving them to her if they made her smile like that.

Hard cock or not.FIVEReese - 5 weeks laterIf I got one more request to order in that godawful book, I was going to scream. Not because people wanted to read. I loved that people still wanted to pick up pages and escape within them. That was awesome. I hoped I never stopped seeing that enthusiasm.

And, in general, I wasn't a book snob at all.

I read all genres from YA to romance to mystery to classics. I didn't spend a lot of time on horror simply because I never liked blood and gore, but I knew plenty of people found catharsis in that.

It was just, ugh, that book was so badly written.