Page 33 of Kane

But even though I know I shouldn’t, I can’t help the words that escape me.

“I have ways of making people talk,” I tell him with a wink. Though I mean the words to be light and carefree—which is how I try to keep our interactions—they come out much darker than I mean them to. Though before I can apologize or smooth over my awkward blunder, I note Ryder’s cheeks turning the most lovely shade of scarlet I think I’ve ever seen.

“I bet you do,” he mutters under his breath as he pulls away from me, flashing his gaze away. His long thick eyelashes stand out, and I find myself leaning against the counter, my cock hard; pressed against the counter.

Fuck!

I suck in a breath and let it out slowly as I try to think unsexy thoughts while Ryder starts to set up the things he needs to make me my mystery coffee.

Then I hear the familiar chatter of voices. Carter and Nash. I tense, turning around to look at them, or rather Carter. Who looks surprised to see me here this early before group.

Shit.

Nash comes up as Ryder focuses on the cup, avoiding my gaze.

“I’ll be with you in a moment, Sir,” se says, his voice low and poised.

“Take your time,” Nash says as I move down to the end of the counter and Carter comes up beside me.

“You’re early,” is all I can say.

Carter smirks, and I don’t miss the glint of interest in his eyes.

“So, this is why you haven’t been drinking the coffee at group,” he says with a knowing look.

I avoid his gaze.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I never drank that sludge to begin with.”

Carter laughs, shaking his head. “Right. Because you said you weren’t a coffee guy.”

There’s a strange silence between us; the tension not uncomfortable, but not quite comfortable either. I watch Ryder toss my cinnamon roll into the toaster oven with the tongs before taking Nash’s order.

“The coffee’s actually really good here,” I say. “And I highly recommend the cinnamon roll.”

Ryder comes over to us to hand me my coffee, and I don’t miss how Carter watches us, which makes me feel more anxious and nervous.

“Kane,” he says, offering me the cup. I know he’s trying to be cool; after all, this is his job, and he doesn’t know Carter or Nash like I do. Calling out names is part of the gig—whether there’s a hundred people or three, or even just one. But something about the look in his eye when he says my name, the tone of his voice as he says it, calls to me, and I don’t hesitate to take the cup from his hand, despite the heat radiating off of it. Or perhaps that’s just me.

My fingers graze his knuckles as I do so, that familiar touch soothing something deep inside me.

His skin is soft, warm. I want to feel it everywhere—on my hands, over my fingertips. On my cock, over the pulsing vein in my neck. In my beard, my hair. But I have to pull away. I have to let go, even though I don’t want to.

“Thanks,” I say, trying to keep my tone and behavior as normal as possible.

Which is not easy, given the circumstances, or my unrelenting cock which I nonchalantly shift to adjust, hoping Carter doesn’t notice. I don’t need him or Nash getting the wrong idea, and the last thing I want to explain is my new coffee fetish.

Ryder turns from me, and heads to the back counter to start prepping Nash’s order and I watch as he cleans out the espresso machine and puts fresh grounds in, watch as those warm, smooth hands pull down hard on the lever to pack it in. I can’t take my gaze off him, heat spreading through me; and I know it isn’t just because of the coffee.

“You’re drooling,” Carter says, his voice full of humor.

“Shut the fuck up,” I say as I break my gaze and take a long sip of my coffee.

“There’s no crime in looking.”

Carter leans against the edge of the delivery counter.

“Uh-huh. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you have a crush.”