Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 83461 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83461 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Ava rolls her eyes and returns to her work. But she doesn’t ignore me. “Again, you don’t have an ego, and you know damn well that you’re charming.”
“Now we’re talking,” I tease, propping my elbow on the table, my chin on my palm so I can stare at her. “What else?”
Ava starts typing, eyes pinned to the screen, but she chuckles. “Let’s see… you’re funny—although in kind of an annoying way—personable, and at times, you seem fairly intelligent.”
I snort, leaning back to sip my coffee and settle in to watch her. Because I know that will annoy her too.
Ava and I met the first day I walked into this shop at six thirty on a Tuesday morning. She was sitting at the very table she’s at now, although I didn’t notice her at first. I was actually in the middle of a phone call with Callum Derringer. I sat at the table I’m at now and promptly knocked my coffee over. I cursed, jumped up to avoid it running off the table onto me, and then Ava was there cleaning it up.
Before I’d wrapped up my call to Callum, she’d wiped down the table and brought me a fresh coffee.
“On the house,” she’d said, and sat back down at the corner table where she’d been working on an iPad.
Clearly, she was an employee, not only recognizable by the uniform but by the fact she replaced my coffee free of charge. But she was more than just a barista because she was doing paperwork.
I introduced myself, we exchanged first names only, and that was the extent of our first conversation.
Over the past several weeks, we’ve progressed to flirting, or sometimes she’ll insult me in a backhanded way, always with a devilish grin. Our conversations have never gone deep. Just some quick, light banter every day I come in and she’s working. Sometimes, I’ll flirt, but admittedly, I’m not great at it. That skill is so rusty, it squeaks in despair. Ava flirts back in a teasing manner, and it appeals to me.
Our interactions are never long, merely the time it takes me to drink my coffee. She’s got a sharp wit, which I appreciate, but she’s also smoking hot, and I wonder why she’s working here. I’ve interacted with her enough to know she’s too smart to be working in a coffee shop.
Ava glances up at me and smirks as I stare back at her. “I’ve stroked your ego today. How about you stroke mine?”
“That’s a whole lot of stroking, and I’m not sure I know you that well,” I toss back. She tips her head and laughs, and it’s smoky and sexy as fuck.
She rolls her eyes. “I gave you a free coffee about six weeks ago. You know me well enough.”
“Fine.” I wave my hand outward to her work area. “You type very prettily.”
Ava grimaces and shakes her head, an amused expression on her face as she turns back to her iPad. “Your flirting skills suck.”
“Wait… we’re flirting?” I drawl in mock surprise.
“You most definitely are not flirting. No girl I know wants to be told she types prettily.”
I grin and take another sip of my coffee. “How about you let me buy you a drink sometime, and I’ll try to work on my skills before then?”
Ava’s head snaps up and whips my way, twin emeralds sparkling with surprise. “What?”
I’m a bit surprised myself—I didn’t walk in here with any intention of asking her out. It’s not that I haven’t asked women out before, but I don’t go on many dates these days. I’m always so damn busy that it never seems more important than my work.
But Ava has definitely captured my attention. “You heard me. Let me take you out for a drink.”
“Um.” She looks back to her computer, brow furrowed. Eyes back to me, filled with confusion, she asks, “You want to go out with me?”
Now I’m the one who’s frowning. “Why is that so hard to believe?”
“Well… because you’re…” She waves at me, seeming to struggle to find the words. “You’re… you know…”
I shake my head slowly. “I really don’t know.”
“You’re…” She looks over to the counter where three people stand in line for coffee, then back to me. She lowers her voice. “You’re the Titans’ coach. I work in a coffee shop.”
A slow smile forms on my face. “I was wondering if you’d recognized me. You never acted like you did.”
Her cheeks turn pink. “I didn’t recognize you. One of the baristas did and told me that first week. I didn’t want to make a big deal of it.”
“For which I’m glad,” I assure her.
“But you are a big deal,” she points out and turns back to her work, as if to dismiss this conversation.
I can’t help but smirk. “And you’re prejudiced against people who are a big deal?”