Page 35 of Kane

“This seat taken?” he asks, gesturing to where Carter was. Aside from the minimal chatter of people coming and going, there’s not much activity here. I’m the only one at the table, so I know he could just sit down. But it’s the way he asks.

Like he needs my permission. And I want to give it to him.

I want to give him more than just my permission, and that is as dangerous as it is tempting.

I nod lightly, my voice bold and stern, because I don’t even have to think about how to answer him, or what to say. It’s second nature. It’s who I am.

The switch flips instantaneously.

“Sit.”

Ryder gracefully sits in the chair, his gaze sparkling with relief. He keeps his gaze on mine as he does so, and I feel his knee brushing against mine under the table. His fingertips graze against my knee as he settles his hand there.

Waiting.

Being such a good fucking boy.

This…

It’s the closest we’ve ever been, and that is not lost on me. He’s so close.

Close enough I could grab his chair and pull him to me, straddle him. Grasp his neck.

Kiss him until I can’t breathe.

My cock jumps at the thought, clearly not against the idea, despite the fact we’re in public. Though, if I were to serve Ryder, I wouldn’t want observers. I’d want him all to myself.

All his pleasure would be mine and mine alone…

“Thanks,” he says softly, chewing his bottom lip. The sight does nothing to help my situation, despite my attempts to quell my inappropriate erection.

I think about Carter’s words. About Claire and her relentless persistence to find me a good man. About Margie’s.

He seems like a nice guy.

What’s wrong with that?

I sip my coffee because I’m afraid if I don’t put something in my mouth, quick, I might do something I regret.

And I don’t think I’ll be sorry about it, either, which is a problem.

A very big problem.

Ryder leans over the table, the motion putting him closer to me. His sapphire gaze holds mine, and he opens his mouth.

“Can I ask you something?”

I nod, sipping my coffee.

“Of course,” I manage to say without choking on my drink.

Ryder twists his lips. The look on his face is almost innocent, save for the sparkle of mischief in his eyes that I have come to appreciate; as one might appreciate the Hope Diamond on its blue velvet pillow.

“Are we… friends?” he asks curiously.

I let out a low laugh, shaking my head. “That depends. Do you want to be friends with an old curmudgeon like me?” I say, feigning humor as a mask. I want to tell him yes, but the truth is… I don’t know what we are.

I know he is a damn good barista. He knows I come to this building every week, though he hasn’t asked why or for what, and I haven’t divulged such information willingly.