Page 24 of Beneath Your Beautiful

He glared at me. “Are we running or standing around chatting like schoolgirls?”

I chuckled. “How about a race? You could work out all your sexual frustration.”

“You get a hard-on every time you look at Eden.”

Fuck, it was true. Louis smirked at me.

“See you at the waterfront,” he said, referring to Transmitter Park in Greenpoint, where all our races ended. “I’ll be waiting to collect my twenty bucks.”

“In your dreams.”

I was built for endurance, and for going the distance, but Louis had always been the better sprinter. His mother taught him to run from trouble. My father taught me to stay and fight until the bitter end.

I won the twenty bucks.

Chapter Ten

Eden

Iducked into Brickwood Coffee on Bedford Avenue just as the heavens opened, releasing a summer shower I hadn’t anticipated. When I left my apartment, it had been hot and sunny. I ran my fingers through my sweaty hair, scanning the room for Ava. The shop was small, with rustic wood walls, and a ceiling made of vintage crates, the air rich with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Bearded hipsters hunched over laptops sat at a tall wooden table down the middle and a few customers were sitting at the round tables by the windows, but Ava wasn’t here yet.

I stepped up to the counter and gave my order to a short, wiry guy with dark hair and red-framed glasses. “Could I get a large iced coffee, please? And leave room for milk.” I indicated with my fingers how much room he should leave. He handed me a plastic cup and a marker. I drew a line and handed the cup back to him.

“Do you want the French roast, the Kenyan, the Costa Rican—”

“Which one is the smoothest?” I’d never been to this coffee shop before, and I didn’t get so many choices at my local shop. “You know…without—”

“The bitter aftertaste?”

I smiled. “Exactly.”

He held up his hand. “Leave it to me. I’ve got you covered.”

“I trust you. You seem to know a lot about coffee.”

“I’m a trained barista. Coffee is my life,” he joked. “Anything else? Bagel? Muffin? Cinnamon roll?”

“No, thank you. Just the coffee.”

“And a large black coffee,” a voice behind me said. I’d know that gravelly voice anywhere. What was Killian doing here?

“Your usual?” the barista asked, his gaze sweeping over Killian who I hadn’t looked at yet. The barista seemed to be appreciating the view though, and it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out he was gay. “Or did you want to try—”

“The usual,” Killian said, cutting him off.

The barista nodded. “Good choice.” He was still staring at Killian, making no move to get the coffee. I needed to see what was so swoon-worthy, not that Killian wasn’t always swoon-worthy.

I turned to look at Killian who was running his hand through his wet hair. My gaze traveled down from his broad shoulders to the wet T-shirt clinging to his body, displaying his toned, hard body, every muscle clearly defined. Good Lord, were those eight-pack abs? I’d obviously checked out his body before. How could I miss it? It was like a work of art, chiseled by a sculptor, but in a wet T-shirt it was even more spectacular. I was imagining him stripped bare of the T-shirt. Stripped bare ofallhis clothes. I lifted my eyes from his chest to his face.

Busted.

He was smirking at me.

“Did you just smirk at me?”

Still smirking, he stepped forward and handed the barista a twenty-dollar bill. In all the confusion of ogling Killian’s torso, I forgot about paying.

“Hey, wait. I’ll pay.” I dug around in my bag and pulled out some cash, offering it to the barista who was already handing Killian his change. I tried to give Killian the money, but he scowled at me like I’d offended him.