Page 31 of Where I Should’ve Been

Breezy sits at a table near the window, laptop open and fingers typing furiously. She’s dressed to the nines, even in a small-town coffee shop on a Monday morning, and makes the rest of us look like we just fell out of bed.

Jackpot.

I turn my baseball cap around, grab my coffees and cinnamon rolls, and head in her direction.

“Hey there,” I greet, drawing her blue eyes up to mine on a startled jerk.

“Oh, hello,” she says casually. “Can I help you, sir?”

Did she just call me sir?

“What?”

“Did you need something?” she asks, and my head fucking spins. I know how to play it cool, but this is more like fucking ice. I mean, I did lick this woman’s pussy not even two nights ago.

“Well. I guess not. I just…thought I’d say hello.”

“I love chatting with all of Bennett’s friends and neighbors,” she says sweetly, nodding toward me. “But I’m in the middle of something right now.”

My jaw runs tight. “Bennett’s friends and neighbors?” I ask with a whisper. So that’s how it’s going to be.

A wicked, teasing smile softens her face, and instantly, I eat crow. She had me fucking going good—too good for shit that’s so in line with my own damn terms of use sex policy.

“You’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

She scrunches her nose and grins. “Maybe a little.”

I groan, scrubbing a hand down my face. “You’re cruel.”

“Or…funny,” she tosses back. “Depends on how you look at it.”

And damn it, she is funny. Infuriatingly so. Beautiful and quick and confident enough to make me feel like I’m twenty again and out of my depth.

“You left early,” I say quietly, leaning closer.

“Pretty sure I left right on time.”

Before I can find the words to agree, with the caveat that we should arrange a time for her to hop in my bed, ride my cock, and leave expeditiously again, Clay Harris’s voice fills my ears.

“Tad Hanson,” he says, clapping a hand on my back. “Haven’t seen you in a while, bud. You planning on stopping by The Country Club tonight? I’ll be bartending.”

I flick a glance at Breezy, whose eyes are fixated back on her laptop, but it’s clear to me she’s listening. I look back at Clay. “Nah. Planning on staying in tonight. All night. By myself.”

It’s a hint and an invitation that would go over a dumb head like mine without notice. But Breezy Bishop is smart. Sophisticated. Educated.

She’ll pick up the nuance. I’m sure of it. She doesn’t look up from her screen, but the corner of her mouth curves just enough to let me know she heard while Clay and I say our goodbyes.

My dick tingles, and my heart picks up speed.

The rest of sheep-battling with Randy today just got a lot more interesting—I can’t wait to spend the day planning some moves for round two.

12

Breezy

The house is quiet when I slip out.

Bennett and Norah are asleep, and Autumn is tucked cozily in her bed with her curls spread over her princess pillow. The whole place hums with domestic peace, and I step into the night like I’m a teenage girl breaking my parents’ rules.