Coralee June

Being with you is like discovering all the secrets of the universe. I just want to treat you like the precious truth you are, Blakely Stewart.

“I’m in love with your sister, Lance. I’ve been in love with her since the moment she knocked on your door. You’re my brother, but she’s my soul. My fucking soul. We can talk about this later, and you can kick my ass if you want, but I’m going to make sure she’s safe first.”

I learned that bullet wounds were easier to fix than a broken heart.

A strong, stoic guy sat crammed in the middle booth. His muscular body was almost too big for the seat. The red vinyl he sat on was faded and ripped, a striking contradiction to his crisp Armani suit. He had a large skull tattoo on his neck, and bulging veins that pulsed. That rigid spine of his was like steel. He seemed frustrated tonight. Rogue huffs of annoyance escaped his lips every three minutes, making everyone within earshot aware of how mad he was. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he had shades on his hard face, despite it being eleven o’clock at night. He wore those Gucci sunglasses like a mask.

"You sure are huffing and puffing up a storm tonight," I observed, knowing damn well he wouldn’t respond. He never responded. "Is it the AC? You know, you could take off that suit jacket you’re wearing. It’s miserably hot in here, and that added layer is probably

making it worse. I’d strip naked, but it’s not that kind of place. I’d probably get better tips that way, though."

He grumbled and shifted in his seat.

"Or not," I quickly added. He watched as I poured him a cup. "How was your day?" I asked playfully. No response. I paused, pretending like he was actually speaking and not just silently willing me to leave him alone. "You don’t say?" He was like a silent wall. Nothing amused him. Nothing intrigued him. "I swear, Stranger. You sure are chatty tonight."

The man had sweeping, light brown hair, a jaw sharp as a blade, and a scabbed cut just above his brow. He looked just a bit older than me, but carried this incredible weight of experience that made him seem timeless. He was handsome, in a devious kind of way.

Dangerous and observant, he sat in the same spot in the same booth every Thursday night. Despite the terrifying familiarity, I didn’t know his name. I didn’t know who he was. I just knew

that he had a job to do. His nose flared in annoyance.

He wasn’t here for the mediocre food or to breathe in the Americana air and get grease splatters on his button-up shirt, he was here to protect my best friend: Vicky.

I rarely spoke to him but was feeling bold tonight. "Enjoy your coffee," I said with a bright smile. He licked his lips and hunched over the cup like my attention made him uncomfortable. It was one of our unwritten rules: I ignored Vicky’s bodyguard, and she ignored the dark circles under my eyes.

"Are you done taunting my shadow?" Vicky asked in a brief tone. "I don’t know why you bother giving him coffee, he is such a snob. Prefers the finest Australian roast." Across the table sat my best friend. She was picking at a plate of french fries with her fork and had a blank expression on her face. She wore all black. She had a black choker necklace with a single diamond in the middle on her long, slender neck. Flared black jeans ripped at the knees. A black T-shirt. Black eyeliner. And a black watch wrapped around her wrist.

I couldn’t imagine my silent stranger being a coffee snob, but now that I thought of it, he never did touch the food or coffee I put in front of him.

"I’m just trying to stay awake. I’m dead on my feet tonight," I replied with a lengthy sigh. I needed a full night’s sleep and some hard-core self-care. Maybe even a self-induced orgasm or two.

"You know you don't have to stay here,"

"I'm sorry I have to work later. I tried to text you, but—"

"I don't mind waiting here. It's better than going home,"