Raced by K. Bromberg Page A

on our faces there is still an underlying tension of unanswered questions between us, or with humor to try and add some levity.
    Pick, Ryles. Set the tone for the rest of this conversation because I’m sure as fuck uncertain where to go from here.
    “I may not like the coffee part, but Starbucks has some damn good food that is oh-so bad for you.”
    You have no idea how true that statement is, sweetheart . I shake my head, my smile more genuine now but her comment weaving into my thoughts. Telling me that she gets this. Gets that anything between us will be a beautiful disaster.
    We move up in line, and I can hear the comments starting behind me and at the tables around us. My name is a hushed murmur and usually I’m cool with the attention, but right now I need it to be her and me. I need to figure out why I keep coming back to something that we both know is going to happen again, but this time I fear will either break me or devastate her.
    And that’s a heavy fucking burden for a man to bear. I’d like to say I’ll walk away right now and save her the pain but know sure as shit—because I’m standing here—that I can’t. I’d like to think I’d sacrifice myself, take the hit my own demons will hand me, but fuck, I know how brutal that would be.
    I’m not sure if I’m willing to face them in order to let this thing with her play out. And I know that makes me a man weaker than most but hell if I want to relive the horror that’s robbed my soul more than once in a lifetime.
    But then again why in the hell am I even wasting time thinking shit like this that I’m never going to allow. Love’s not a possibility for me. Relationships have strings and expectations. Those are hard limits I won’t cross, can’t cross.
    And yet here I am, curious what it is about her that I just can’t let go.
    “What wo-would you l-like?” The barista stammers when she recognizes me as we step up and thank fuck for that because she pulls me from all of the crap I am overthinking.
    Fucking Rylee is rubbing off on me with her reading too much into shit. I can think of other things I’d like to rub off on when it comes to her.
    The image that flashes in my head is so very welcome and makes me chuckle and shake my head. I think the cashier catches the suggestive tone of my laugh and infers the direction of my thoughts because she blushes. She busies herself with the cashier buttons as she takes our order and I can’t resist, as we walk away I make sure to say thanks and wink before flashing a huge grin.
    We’re lucky to find a table in the corner since the place is packed, and I enjoy the view of Ry’s ass when I pull her chair out before I sit down myself. We sit and stare at each other for a few moments, smirks on our faces and questions in our eyes.
    “You know that after what you did today, you’ve most likely reached idol status with the boys now.”
    I roll my eyes at her. A hero, I’m far fucking from that. If she knew what I was thinking in line, she’d see I’m more a coward than anything. Idols don’t hide in corners when monsters enter the room to steal things from them that can never be replaced. They fight back, they overcome, they escape and save the fucking day—not cower and cry and plead when pain is headed their way.
    They don’t need to call to superheroes because they become one themselves.
    I can’t answer her because I know the truth, so I avert my gaze and focus way too intensely on the muffin in my hand. I take a bite, pushing the ghosts back in their closet and finally look up to see her eyes fixed on where I just licked a crumb from my lip.
    My thoughts vanish instantly as my dick stands up and takes notice of her physical reaction. She lifts her eyes to mine and we stare at each other for a moment, the buzz of the coffee shop allowing a comfortable silence between us despite the unspoken desire in both of our eyes.
    “Ace.” The barista calls my name and unknowingly breaks our connection. I