Mad Sea by K Webster Page A

green napkin along the way and bounces back over to me. I’d die to have her bouncing on my cock instead.
    “The Pink Pelican,” she chirps and winks at me. “A Franny Froyo fave!”
    An elderly lady chuckles from behind me in line, and I cringe. “Thanks.”
    When she passes the cup to me, I deliberately touch her soft, small hands and thank God for the counter hiding my hard-on. This girl does things to me.
    “Ask her out already, son,” the old woman orders. “Your tongue is on the floor and the gal looks like she might want to be the one to roll it back up for you.”
    I clench my teeth and flash Hali an apologetic look. “I’m, uh…”
    “At least tell her your name,” the nosy lady gripes.
    Hali giggles, a sound lighter and more musical than any wind chime my adopted mother, Constance, ever collected, and I instantly crave more of it. Every day. On repeat. Jesus.
    “Madden Finn. My friends call me Mad.”
    Hali grins at me. “Pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Mad. See you around.”
    Feeling like a dick, I stalk away from the sniggering old woman and find my usual lime green plastic chair by the window. I have a perfect view of both my love, the sea, and my obsession, Froyo Hali.
    As I eat a dessert that makes me feel more like a woman than a man, I catch my reflection in the mirrored glass along the far wall. I don’t fucking belong here. All six feet and five inches of solid muscle, with a leather jacket too hot for Miami make me stand out like a sore thumb. My black hair is a wild mess, matching the emotions running rampant in my head. Eyes, so black they’re nearly blue, peer back at me.
    Angry.
    Possessive.
    Unapproachable.
    Fucking terrifying.
    I’m surprised half the town doesn’t run in the other direction when they see me. Truth is, they mostly do. Aside from my Sunday visits at the frozen yogurt stand on the beach where I turn in my mancard and balls the second the bell on the door jingles. Here, I’m some ridiculous fool.
    After another week of disappointment, I toss my empty container into the trash can and stalk out of the restaurant toward my bike without a backwards glance at my shiny, pretty obsession.
    “All you have to do is ask, you know. I won’t bite,” a sweet voice says with a chuckle from behind me as I straddle my machine. “Well, I won’t bite that hard.”
    I snap my head to the vision gracefully making her way over to me. “Ask what?” I grunt.
    Unafraid of my gruff exterior, she sashays right up to me and invades my personal space. I’m about three seconds from hauling her onto this bike with me and taking her home.
    “Ask in the next five seconds, and the answer will be yes. Ask me after, and it will be no.”
    With her out of the yuppie froyo shop, I’m a little more in my element. I flash her a smug grin. “Will you marry me?”
    Her green eyes widen with surprise, and she giggles. “Oooh, you’re a sly one, Madden Finn. Here I thought you were shy but no, you knew exactly what you were doing!”
    I can’t help but laugh with her—it’s infectious and I want to be tainted by her. “We’ll deal with that answer later. Can I take you to dinner one night?”
    “I suppose so,” she says, “a girl has to eat.” She hands me a green napkin with her phone number written in a pretty flourish across the front. “Text me and let me know when.”
    With a wave, she turns and starts away from me, but I’m quick and snatch her wrist. It’s tiny in my massive hand and I easily bring her toward me. I don’t say anything but press a soft kiss to her palm that smells like dessert toppings.
    “I’ve been waiting twelve Sundays to do that.”
    I release her and keep my eyes on her as she hurries back into the building, her round ass jiggling as she bounces away.
    One day soon, I’ll make this girl mine.
    Once the engine roars to life and I’m back on the road, the warm wind whipping around me, I contemplate how any sort of relationship with a girl