Tennessee. She wasn’t sure she could adequately explain Becca to him with so much of their shared past on her mind. Oh, the things she knew about the man . . .
Yes, she’d learned them years ago when they were both teens, both too young for such intimacies. But their age at the time, and her memories of it, only heightened her adult curiosity. Her perspective had been through the wringer over the years. It was hard not to want to know this Dakota in context.
“And her hands are registered as deadly weapons?” he asked.
Becca. Right . It took Thea a couple of heartbeats to return to the conversation. She was too caught up in the length of his hair, the scruff on his face. His weary eyes that were too bloodshot for this hour. The size of his shoulders. The scars—and the tats—on his hands. The markings, both the ink and the healed wounds, spoke of a harsh life, and knowing where Dakota had spent his final years as a teen, and his first years as a twentysomething . . .
“Believe it or not, they could be,” she said, though she had to stop once to clear her throat. What in the world had he been through to look so broken? So completely fractured? So unbearably worn? Had anyone else noticed? Or was she only seeing the damage because she’d known him so well when he’d been whole?
“She’s had training?” He accompanied her to the espresso maker. Not that either of them needed caffeine after the jolt of Becca York. “Military or something?”
“She has,” she said with a nod. “Though she picked up a lot of what she knows after her service.” Thea frowned at the tamped grounds in the filter. “You’d be amazed at the things you can learn on the Internet.”
“Considering some of the things I’ve used it for . . .”
“Yeah? Such as?” She hit the button, watched the crema rise above the espresso in the mug. She could use a change of subject.
He leaned a shoulder against the wall beside the table and shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Had to pull a calf one time. I was working on a ranch. Montana.”
That made her grin. “You? Worked on a ranch?”
He nodded. “And before moving to Montana, I worked as a barista for a year, so if you want me to show you where you’re getting it wrong with your wrist, I can.”
“Jerk.” It’s what she’d always called him when he’d pissed her off, and it rolled off her tongue as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Her heart fluttered. This familiarity couldn’t be good. “You let me go on about lattes like you were actually interested.”
“I was interested,” he said, watching as she cleaned the steaming wand after heating the milk. “I am interested.”
“Interested in having the upper hand, you mean.”
“It’s less having the upper hand, and more the best way to play it.” His shrug pulled his T-shirt tight across his shoulders, which she really needed to stop noticing. “Doling out what I know strategically. It’s a life hack I learned a long time ago.”
“Here, then,” she said, holding out the mug and the pitcher, and wondering about a long time ago. If he meant the years he’d lived at home with his mostly absent parents. Or if he was referring to the time he’d spent behind bars. Maybe his life after. “Play your hand. Dole out your own leaf.”
His mouth twisted wryly as he took both from her hands. “It’s been a while since I’ve done this. Not sure my own wrist action is up to par.”
Oh, the things she could say. And would’ve said if she’d been an irresponsible teenager and not a mature adult. Flirting, innuendo, risqué repartee . . . Those belonged in the past, when she hadn’t known any better. Now she did. Todd had taught her well.
She watched Dakota’s focus, his narrowed gaze, the crease in his brow, and followed the motion of his hand as he poured the milk in perfect dollops, lifting up smoothly from one before adding the next, reaching the end of the line then pulling
Yes, she’d learned them years ago when they were both teens, both too young for such intimacies. But their age at the time, and her memories of it, only heightened her adult curiosity. Her perspective had been through the wringer over the years. It was hard not to want to know this Dakota in context.
“And her hands are registered as deadly weapons?” he asked.
Becca. Right . It took Thea a couple of heartbeats to return to the conversation. She was too caught up in the length of his hair, the scruff on his face. His weary eyes that were too bloodshot for this hour. The size of his shoulders. The scars—and the tats—on his hands. The markings, both the ink and the healed wounds, spoke of a harsh life, and knowing where Dakota had spent his final years as a teen, and his first years as a twentysomething . . .
“Believe it or not, they could be,” she said, though she had to stop once to clear her throat. What in the world had he been through to look so broken? So completely fractured? So unbearably worn? Had anyone else noticed? Or was she only seeing the damage because she’d known him so well when he’d been whole?
“She’s had training?” He accompanied her to the espresso maker. Not that either of them needed caffeine after the jolt of Becca York. “Military or something?”
“She has,” she said with a nod. “Though she picked up a lot of what she knows after her service.” Thea frowned at the tamped grounds in the filter. “You’d be amazed at the things you can learn on the Internet.”
“Considering some of the things I’ve used it for . . .”
“Yeah? Such as?” She hit the button, watched the crema rise above the espresso in the mug. She could use a change of subject.
He leaned a shoulder against the wall beside the table and shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Had to pull a calf one time. I was working on a ranch. Montana.”
That made her grin. “You? Worked on a ranch?”
He nodded. “And before moving to Montana, I worked as a barista for a year, so if you want me to show you where you’re getting it wrong with your wrist, I can.”
“Jerk.” It’s what she’d always called him when he’d pissed her off, and it rolled off her tongue as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Her heart fluttered. This familiarity couldn’t be good. “You let me go on about lattes like you were actually interested.”
“I was interested,” he said, watching as she cleaned the steaming wand after heating the milk. “I am interested.”
“Interested in having the upper hand, you mean.”
“It’s less having the upper hand, and more the best way to play it.” His shrug pulled his T-shirt tight across his shoulders, which she really needed to stop noticing. “Doling out what I know strategically. It’s a life hack I learned a long time ago.”
“Here, then,” she said, holding out the mug and the pitcher, and wondering about a long time ago. If he meant the years he’d lived at home with his mostly absent parents. Or if he was referring to the time he’d spent behind bars. Maybe his life after. “Play your hand. Dole out your own leaf.”
His mouth twisted wryly as he took both from her hands. “It’s been a while since I’ve done this. Not sure my own wrist action is up to par.”
Oh, the things she could say. And would’ve said if she’d been an irresponsible teenager and not a mature adult. Flirting, innuendo, risqué repartee . . . Those belonged in the past, when she hadn’t known any better. Now she did. Todd had taught her well.
She watched Dakota’s focus, his narrowed gaze, the crease in his brow, and followed the motion of his hand as he poured the milk in perfect dollops, lifting up smoothly from one before adding the next, reaching the end of the line then pulling
Similar Books
Travellers #1
Jack Lasenby
est
Adelaide Bry
Hollow Space
Belladonna Bordeaux
Black Skies
Leo J. Maloney
CALL MAMA
Terry H. Watson
Curse of the Ancients
Matt de la Pena
The Rival Queens
Nancy Goldstone
Killer Smile
Lisa Scottoline
Succession of Witches
Karen Mead