Author: Cheryl McIntyre

He licks his lips suggestively. “Baby I’ll be so nice to you.”

I raise a brow and frown at him. “See, that right there. You can’t do that or I’ll have to ask you to leave. But if you can behave yourselves, we’ll get along fine.” I glance around and the others nod. Goatee just grins stupidly.

“What can I get you to drink?”

The less wasted ones order and when I turn to goatee, he leans toward me, his chiseled arms resting on the table top. “Pretty girl, I’d drink your bath water,” he says. His finger slides toward me slowly and he reaches out, skimming it down my thigh. Then he hooks it under the hem of my shorts. I try to back up, but he slips his other fingers under, tightening his grip. “But the only thing that’s going to quench my thirst is a sip of your sweet, wet—”

I don’t get to hear the end of that sentence—thank God—because Park’s there, shoving the guy’s face into the table. One of his friend’s stands up.

Park points to him. “Sit the fuck down.” The friend listens and Park’s grip tightens around Goatee’s neck. “Let her go before I fucking break your hand.” I feel him release me, and I take a quick step back, but I can’t pry my eyes off Park. He takes a deep breath to calm himself. “I’m going to let go, and you are going to apologize, then you are going to get up and leave without making any more of a scene.”

I look around quickly and he’s right. It’s a scene. My manager has his hand on the phone, ready to call the police. The other waitresses are huddled together, watching the events unfold, and every customer in the diner is craning their neck to get a look.

“Fuck you,” Goatee spits. His cheek is smashed against the table, his face red with rage. I can tell he’s struggling, but Park looks calm and composed. The bulging of the fine veins in his forearm and the whitening of his fingers are the only tell. He shakes the guy, slapping his cheek into the laminate top.

“I’m not letting go until you agree,” Park growls.

“We’ll go,” one of the others says.

The third one glances over at me. “He’s just drunk. We’ll get him out of here.”

I nod, but Park still doesn’t let him up. I touch his shoulder and the hard muscle beneath my fingertips makes me draw back. “Park.”

He turns his head slowly to look at me. “Step back, Lucy. Now.”

I do and Park shoves away from the guy who comes up swinging. He catches Park in the jaw and I release a shocked scream. His friends dive for his arms, but he’s bigger than them, and he’s furious. He shakes them off and goes after Park again. But Park’s recovered from the first hit and sidesteps the next wild throw. Then he lays Goatee out with an uppercut to the chin. As the big guy falls back into the table, I move forward, grabbing Park’s arm.

It takes him a moment to turn to me, and when he does, he captures my face between his hands, looking me over. “Are you okay?”

“Am I okay? Are you okay?” I trail my fingertips over his reddened jaw line. It’s hot to the touch and I’m pretty sure it’ll bruise. He closes his eyes and steps back, dropping his hands as he curls them into fists. I notice his knuckle is split and bleeding. I take a napkin off the next table and press it carefully to the wound.

“I’m fine.” I peer up at him and he sighs. “I’m fine,” he repeats.

***

I wake up to Park crawling through my bedroom window. He pauses when he sees I’m awake, one leg in, and one leg out. He holds up a paper bag. “I brought breakfast. Coffee and bagels.”

I sit up, smiling like an idiot. I can’t help but look at him like my own personal hero. The feminist in me recognizes what he did as being alpha male bullshit, but the woman in me thinks it’s hot. I actually think he handled it pretty well. He didn’t hit that guy until he had to. I only wish he had given me the chance to try and resolve the issue on my own before he jumped in.

“You brought me breakfast?”

He closes the window with one hand while juggling everything in the other. “Peace offering,” he says, shrugging. “Just in case you were pissed about last night.”

I pat the bed in front of me. Park’s eyes flick from my hand to my face, back and forth several times before he lowers himself and offers me a Styrofoam cup. He pops the lid off while I hold it and adds two sugars and a creamer. When he looks inside the bag for something to stir it with I close my gaping mouth. How the hell he knew how I like my coffee is a mystery to me. The fact that he cared to know makes my stomach twist.

He gives me butterflies.

“I thought they put something in here…” he trails off and I pull myself out of my thoughts. I follow his gaze to my leg, folded beneath me. The sheet’s only covering half my body and I adjust it. And then I realize why he’s staring. I usually sleep in shorts, but it got too stuffy last night. I ended up just wearing my tank top and panties.

“I’ll go get a spoon,” he says, lifting his eyes to meet mine. But he doesn’t get up. My heart starts racing and my body is screaming at him to kiss me—my brain is worried about morning breath.

He closes his eyes. His long lashes rest on his high cheek bones. My gaze trails over his perfect face, resting on the purple bruise. I suck air through my teeth and his eyes flick open.

“Does it hurt?”

His brows draw together and his mouth opens in surprise. “Unbelievably,” he murmurs.

I release the sheet from my death grip and he watches my movement as I hesitantly bring my hand up to his jaw. I trace the tips of my fingers over the swollen skin. It’s rough from not shaving and it’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever felt.

Park’s breath shudders out, blowing against my neck and goose bumps explode across every inch of my skin. I shiver. And then, as he witnesses my reaction, he shivers.

Oh, my God.

My fingers pause on his warm skin. I bring my palm up, cupping the side of his face and without consciously making the decision, my thumb caresses his lips. His eyes capture mine as he trails his tongue over the length of my finger and closes his mouth around it.

I gasp. My whole body goes hot and need rages through my core, shooting out to all the essential places. For a moment, I think, screw it. He can add me to his bed post, his belt, his little black book, and any other place he wants me.

I tug slightly, putting pressure down on his teeth, and wrapping my other fingers around his chin. I guide him toward me, pulling until the back of my thumb is touching my own lips, and then I slide it out of his mouth. I feel the wetness from his tongue as my thumb skims across my lips and I lick at it automatically.

His hands are on the mattress, one on each side of my thighs, holding him from falling into me. He bunches them into the sheet. Our faces are less than half an inch apart.

Neither one of us moves. He’s staring at me with so much longing that it’s making it hard to breathe. He shakes his head, slowly at first, then with more resolution.

“I can’t,” he says gruffly. He’s backing away before I can make sense of his words. He clears his throat and opens the window. “Enjoy your breakfast, Lucy.”

I watch him leave, my full name playing on a loop in my head.

12

Park

I’m on my way out when I bump into Lucy. She’s not paying attention as she works her fingers through her hair, taking the ever present braid out. She looks tired.

“Oh,” she gasps. “Sorry.”

I grin. “It’s okay.” It’s been two days since I nearly kissed her and I realize how much I missed this face, this voice, and this set of perfect lips.

“Hey, are you leaving?”

“Uh, yeah. I was going to head out for awhile.”

She bites her lip as she regards me. “Can you wait? Just like, five minutes? I have something for you, but I need to change real quick.” She spreads her arms out and I look at her uniform. The bottom half of her shirt is wet with a dark stain.

“Fountain machine went crazy today. I smell like root beer.”

I lean toward her and sniff, wrinkling my nose. “That’s not all you smell like,” I tease her. She actually smells good. She always does. “Take a shower. I can wait.” In the month and a half I’ve known her, Lucy has always showered after work “to get the grease smell out of her hair.”

“Really? You don’t mind?”

“Nah. I was just going to grab a beer.” I see the flash in her eyes. Disapproval or disappointment. Definitely one of the dis words. We both know what I really mean. I was going to go get drunk and find a girl to stay with tonight. “No hurry,” I continue. “Just come find me when you’re done.”

She nods and I watch her bounce up the steps before going back inside. Jessie and Bree are watching a movie. By watching a movie, I mean there’s a movie playing while they make out on the couch. They don’t even notice me pass by.

I go to my room, turn on some music, and lie back on my bed. Three songs later there’s a soft tapping at my door.

“It’s open.”

Lucy steps in and kicks the door closed behind her. Her hair is still down, but now it’s wet. It curls at her hips in a way that makes me want to wrap it around my fingers. Her cheeks are pink, her lips glossy. Fucking kissable. And she has on the tiniest God forsaken sleep shorts I’ve ever seen, showing off her incredible legs. I’m in my own personal Hell.

Stepping in front of me, she pulls one hand from behind her back. I take the book she extends to me. “It’s the second in the series you were reading the other night.”

“Umm, thanks, Lucy. That’s really nice of you.” I say it casually, but really, it means a lot to me. Not only did she pay attention to what book I was reading, but she took the time to go buy the next in the series for me. I don’t like the way it makes me feel. I’m not comfortable with a girl causing any emotion in me, especially when it stirs the ones I’ve kept buried.

“Well, it’s a backhanded gift. I’ve been wanting to read these books, and since you had the first, I thought if I got you the second you’d let me borrow them when you’re done.”

“Oh, I see. You’re one of those. You give the gifts you want.”

She grins and brings the other hand from behind her back. “Guilty,” she says holding out a six pack.

I chuckle, taking it from her. I gesture for her to take a seat on the opposite end of my bed then I pop the cap off a bottle and hand it to her. I retrieve the book from my nightstand and toss it in front of her before leaning back against the wall with my own beer and book.

“You keep bringing me gifts I might start thinking you actually like me.”

She blinks slowly and looks at the wall behind me. “I do like you, Park.”

My eyes roam over her face. Yeah. I know. Just haven’t figured out why, yet. “You’re growing on me, too.”

She smiles widely at me and takes a drink. “I needed this after the day I had.”

“What happened?”

“Besides the exploding fountain machine, two tables stiffed me after running me like an Alaskan sled dog, a girl didn’t show for her shift and we, of course, got slammed. I dumped a tray of drinks—on a table of customers, and my manager bitched me out after the customers were through yelling at me. That was on top of the normal shit that comes along with waitressing. For some reason, everything that goes wrong in a restaurant is the waitress’ fault. Did you know that?”

I nod. “Everyone knows that. It’s the waitress’s job to buy, prepare, and serve the food, right?” I wink at her and she laughs, shaking her head.

“We also apparently choose the menu, wash the dishes, set the thermostat, and pick the music. People can be so rude. It gets stressful sometimes.” She leans back on her elbow and I pull one of her legs up, taking her shoe off and resting her foot in my lap. She watches me, but doesn’t question my actions. I press my thumb into her arch and her head falls back as she moans.