Then I kiss her, square on the mouth. And for a second, the world stops spinning. For a second, she kisses me back. She melts against me, her body pressed against mine, and her tongue finds mine for the briefest of moments. I think I hear her whimper, the sound dampened by my mouth, and I want to keep kissing her. I don't want to stop.
Then, just as suddenly as it happened, she puts her hand against my chest and pushes me back. “What the –“
“Hey, honey. Sorry I’m late. Are these two assholes bothering you?”
One of them snickers, and that just pushes me over the edge.
"That's my girl," I lie, picking him up by the collar of his shirt.
"Your girl?" Coffee Girl squeals. She looks at me wide-eyed, and I can't tell if she's shocked or impressed by my quick thinking, but I don't have time to figure it out, because I'm walking the asshole out the front door.
Outside, I press his stupid head against the wall. His friend follows us, protesting, but he's too cowardly to even try to hit me.
“We were just joking, man,” the guy's friend says, his voice trembling. The guy with his head against the wall says nothing in his own defense. “We didn’t know she had a boyfriend.”
“You need to learn some manners.” I spit the words, my heart racing as adrenaline surges through me.
I’m nearly about to beat this guy’s ass when the bakery door opens and Coffee Girl is standing there, her eyes wide.
“Put him down,” she orders.
I press the guy’s head harder against the wall. Like hell I’m going to put him down. “Apologize to the lady.”
“I wasn’t doing anything ”
“Apologize to the lady now.”
“Drop him,” she insists, her voice firm.
“I’m sorry,” the guy sniffs.
“Sorry for what? That’s not an apology.”
“Sorry for – harassing you,” he whines.
“Ma’am,” I add.
“Sorry for harassing you, ma’am.”
“And you’re not going to come back to this store again.”
“We won’t come back, man,” he snivels. "Ma'am."
When I drop him, he and his friend scatter.
“You,” the girl from the bakery snaps, her eyes wide. “In here. Right now.”
Wordlessly, she walks through the front of the shop. An older woman at the counter gives us a disapproving look, so I give her my best wink.
Maybe Coffee Girl is so grateful for my assistance out there that she’s taking me in the back for a quickie. As pleasant as that sounds — especially since I can't remember the last time I had a quickie — the last thing I need is to bed some clingy PTA mom.
Instead, she doesn't let me get a word out before she slaps me, clean across the face.
“What the hell was that for?" I ask, my hand on my cheek. My skin still stings from the blow. Damn, she hits hard for a girl. "I'm not the one you should be mad at. Your boss shouldn’t let shit like that happen!"
We’re standing in the kitchen surrounded by stainless steel appliances and a counter covered in flour. I’m still pissed as hell about those two morons hitting on her, yet I can’t stop thinking about sliding my hands under her thighs, lifting her up and fucking her right there on that flour-covered countertop.
“My boss?” Her face upturned and her jaw set, she looks at me with blue-grey eyes flashing. She's angry instead of grateful, but I can hardly imagine why, given the fact that I saved her ass from those two jerkoffs.
"Yeah, the woman out there. She shouldn't tolerate that kind of stuff in her store."
"So you think the boss is some kind of pushover," she says, her voice tight.
"I'm just saying that you shouldn't have to work in that kind of environment. Now, slapping me isn't a real great way of showing your gratitude."
"My gratitude?" Her voice rises an octave. "You walked into my store, kissed me, declared me your property, and then shoved a customer's face against the wall outside and told them never to return."
"Yeah, and slapping me is a great way of thanking me." Is she actually angry that I helped her out? That's some shit.
Her cheeks are flushed and a piece of hair falls down over her forehead. She wipes it away and sighs loudly. Hell, I didn't think she could get any hotter than she looked yesterday, but she's proved me wrong. I think she's sexier when she's angry.
"I'm the boss, you ass!" She yells it, her hands on her hips.
“You’re the boss. Well, hell. How about that.”
She purses her lips. “Yeah, how about that. And, despite what you assumed, I had it handled. Because this is my store. And I don’t need some caveman barging in here with some misguided notion that he’s rescuing me because I can’t deal with a couple of assholes."
“I didn’t say –“
She holds up her hand. “I can take care of myself, thank you very much. And I can run my own damn business.”
Shit, she’s standing there a few inches away from me, her face upturned toward mine, lush lips parted slightly, and she's absolutely stinking mad. And I’m not sure I’ve ever wanted to kiss a woman more in my life.
Is it wrong that I just want to piss her off more to see her the way she is now?
“You’re welcome,” I say.
Her eyes get big again. “I didn’t say thank you.”
“You said 'thank you very much', actually.”
“That was sarcasm. Sorry if it was too subtle for you.”