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“I told you, nobody hit me,” he says, his gaze back on his work.
“Bullsh—”
“I hit my eye on the doorknob of my apartment.”
“But—”
“I’m clumsy, all right? More so these days, but it won’t be the first time I’ve wounded myself.” He takes what appears like a calming breath. “Look, I appreciate your concern, all right? But there’s no one you need to punish. I swear it to you.”
“I don’t believe you. That’s what abused people always do, excuse their abusers?—”
“Oh, fuck you,” he grinds out, grabs the tray with the coffees and cake, and stalks toward the bookshelves. “I don’t have to prove the truth to you, and you’re not my alpha, so fuck off.”
My brows are climbing up to my hairline. Such a filthy mouth on such a pretty man, and… fuck, I like it. I find my mouth twitching as I follow him back to my mates. A game of ‘Follow the pert ass and scent of cake.’
Question now is, is that really the cake I’m smelling, or him?
The coffee is good, strong and aromatic. The cake is damn delicious, but now I know that the sweet scent I smelled was all him. Melted marshmallows and sweet apple cider, I think, sweet and spiced.
Mouth-watering.
Sawyer passes the other cups to Archer and Roman, along with plates carrying slabs of this heavenly cake I’m stuffing my mouth with now. It’s so good, but it can’t erase his scent from my senses.
I want to know if he tastes the same way he smells.
Fuck, I’ve never felt so hungry for someone since I met my mates.
I stuff more cake into my mouth, as if that will erase the thought, or this new hunger.
“So, you said we’d talk.” Roman takes a big gulp of his coffee. He’s sitting on one of the low tables scattered among the shelves, an edge of a grin on his face.
“Not much to talk about,” Sawyer mutters.
“About the bruise,” Archer gestures at him, as if to refresh his memory, then takes a sip from his cup.
“As I was telling Kyrian, nobody assaulted me.” Sawyer shakes his head. “I dropped my key, crouched down to grab it, got up and hit the door knob. I’m just clumsy as fuck.”
Archer chokes on his coffee.
Yeah, a filthy mouth. It makes me grin, as if I’m party to a secret nobody else knows yet.
An image comes to me, of said mouth wrapped around my cock, and I hiss as my dick tries to bore a hole through my pants.
“So you actually slammed your face into a doorknob?” I ask.
“My apartment’s doorknob, to be exact.” Sawyer nods, a mournful expression on his face. “Today hasn’t been one of my best performances.”
Roman snorts, then bites his lip. “You bump often into doorknobs?”
“Doorknobs, walls, furniture… people. You name it. I just… I’ve been stressed out.” Sawyer shakes his head, dark curls flying. His cheeks are reddening. “Why am I telling you all this? I should get back to work.”
“We’re the only customers right now,” Archer points out.
“Hey, maintaining a coffee shop takes a lot of behind-the-scenes work, you know. You have to clean the coffee machine, wash the dishes, make sure everything you need is in stock…”
“I’m the manager of the Alpha Bet bar,” Archer says. “I know. So…” He lifts a hand when Sawyer scowls. “So I understand.”
Sawyer lets out a breath, his scowl melting away into… confusion? Like he didn’t expect a man like Archer to get it, to agree and be understanding. Because he’s an alpha? Because he’s a businessman? Because he can look intimidating as hell when he chooses to?
