Chapter 4
Torren
Gabe and I sit at the bar, hands wrapped around our coffee mugs, prolonging the inevitable. I stare down at the black liquid swirling around in my cup and brace myself for the taste as I bring the cup to my lips.
Fuck me!
My whole body shudders. I’ve been drinking this crap for years, and I’m still not used to it. I turn to Gabe, who’s munching on a double chocolate donut, his eyes closed as he savors the sweet treat. Maggie’s coffee might suck, but her donuts are the best.
The lady of the house slides a small plate with an old-fashioned donut right in front of me. That’s all I want. Gimme the original, and that’s it.
“How’s the Joe?” Maggie asks.
“Awful,” I reply before another gulp makes me grimace.
“Perfect. If it tasted good, I’d never get you two assholes out of here.” Maggie’s teeth look like they’re one more cigarette away from falling out of her head as she leans back and cackles.
This is why I come here every day—Maggie’s a freaking hoot. “The donuts are still good,” I reply as I take a big bite of mine.
“Now, donuts are different. Diners are supposed to have shitty coffee. Donuts? That’s my thing. My mother’s very own recipe.”
I’ve heard the story about her mother opening this restaurant a hundred times, so I quickly change the topic.
“I noticed a HELP WANTED sign coming in.” Maggie has a bitch of a time keeping staff. Despite everyone in the Patch saying they need a decent job, nobody’s eager to wait tables at a perfectly fine restaurant.
Maggie rolls her eyes as she wipes down the bar.
“Denise called this morning, saying she’s ditching town with her new beau.
New beau, my ass,” she mumbles under her breath.
“The woman looks like a pitbull, so who the hell is she running off with? A dog catcher? Couldn’t tell me last night?
Had I known, I would have come in an hour earlier to get things ready.
We’ve been busy as hell all morning, and we’re down a server to boot. ”
“You can’t find good help these days,” I lament, and get an elbow to the ribs from Gabe. “Except you, Baby Gabe,” I pull him in for some noogies to which he responds with more jabs to my ribs.
Our scuffle nearly knocks my coffee mug off the counter, and Maggie yells, “Hey! You break it, you buy it, little shits.” Then, she leaves to meet a customer at the register.
Gabe breaks free from my noogie assault and gives me his trademark scowl as he attempts to fix his hair.
“Who the hell are you fixing your hair for? You work in an auto shop.”
Gabe runs his hands down his black hoodie, smoothing out the wrinkles while giving me a look that says, “You never know.”
“Meh. Nobody good lookin’ lives here. Hell, we’re the prettiest things in the whole damn Patch.”
Gabe rolls his eyes, which I absolutely deserve. I’m half kidding and half not. Anyone young with even the slightest bit of moxy, intelligence, or good looks left this dump a long time ago.
Maggie saunters to the far side of the bar, saying, “What’ll it be, hon?”
I turn to see who she’s speaking to, and my eyes land on the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.
Holy. Shit.
I shake my head, making sure I’m not imagining this vision before me. He looks effortlessly regal. Even the way he folds his hands on the counter is elegant.
His face screams innocence as he eyes the menu hanging above the coffee station. The luminous brown hair on his head is coiffed with style, his beautiful green eyes shimmer with nerves, and his skin is like porcelain.
My heart beats a mile a minute. This man is my type to a tee. He’s so clean and proper—a perfect little rich boy from the nice part of town. And, let me tell you, they’re the most fun to pound into the mattress. Sullying the sons of Belmont’s rich and powerful brings me joy like nothing else.
Gabe must notice my staring because he leans closer and waggles his brows at me.
I roll my eyes in response. “He’s clearly lost. Look at his clothes—a stray from the rich part of town.”
As much as I love railing a rich boy, they’re also dangerous. Losing it with a guy whose father has a team of lawyers at his disposal is no good. Stick to the trash, Torren. They’re fun and hungry for it. Still, the temptation is strong.
Gabe shrugs as if he’s saying, “So?”
“What would he do with the likes of me? Nah, I need to stick to my own kind—the dirtbags. I know how to woo those boys. Plus, he might not be gay.”
Gabe raises his brow, giving me a knowing look. He ain’t wrong. I know a gay face when I see one, and my hunky prince across the way definitely has the look of someone who wouldn’t mind a fat cock up his ass.
Preferably mine.
“Okay, okay, he’s most likely into dudes based on appearances, but he won’t be into me. Trust me.”
I can overhear my prince asking questions about the menu, so I turn my gaze back to him and stare at the way his neck bobs when he speaks. I love staring at a cute guy’s neck.
I love having my hand around a guy’s neck.
I shake my head, freeing myself of that thought. Don’t get wound up, Torren—just chill.
But god-fucking-dammit, it’s hard to chill with a little morsel like that sitting right there.
I bet he’s never worked a day in his life.
Well, I’d make him work. I’d make him crawl on his hands and knees and beg me for it.
To see a boy like that fall apart under my touch would be pure heaven.
Maggie finishes jotting down his order and walks away, leaving him alone and awkward. His eyes scan the scene, taking in his surroundings, before they fall on me.
Time stops.
He’s looking right at me.
My stomach drops like I just missed a step on a staircase, and his lips slowly curl into a smile. It’s a little more devilish than I would have expected from a guy like that.
My gaze zeros in on him. It’s almost like a movie, where all the lights fade except for a spotlight shining down on my hot Richie Rich, making him radiate with sex appeal.
I live for moments like this. It’s why I stay off the apps. Nothing beats the moment when two people catch each other’s eyes from across the room—the tether of attraction that’s impossible to resist is almost euphoric. My face is flushed, and the base of my stomach grows warm.
He’s so pretty.
He’s also vaguely familiar, and my mind turns through a Rolodex of memories trying to place where I’ve seen his face before.
He looks down, his finger trailing over the counter, then suddenly looks up and asks, “You gonna ask me my name or just stare at me all day?”
I’m stunned. Speechless.
And I like it.
“I don’t know. Rich boys like you don’t usually introduce themselves to guys like me.”
“And how do you know I’m rich?” he asks.
I huff a laugh. “Everyone in this diner knows you’re rich. You exude it.”
He grimaces, looking down at his attire. “I’m not that overdressed.”
“It’s the way you move, baby boy. Those hands,” I motion to his hands elegantly draped on the table, “you set them on the counter like you’re afraid they might get dirty—like you should be wearing white gloves.”
He inspects his hands the way a woman would who’d just gotten a manicure. “I might be graceful, but that doesn’t mean these hands haven’t done dirty things,” he drawls with a waggle of his brows.
To-fucking-ché.
I crack up, completely shocked by how bold this twink is.
He smiles and saunters over, holding out his hand once he reaches me. “I’m Felix.”
Felix?
Oh no.
Son of a bitch
It’s Felix Hargrove. The mayor’s son. I hate that man. Hate what he’s done to this town.
Naturally, his son looks like temptation wrapped in porcelain.
“Torren,” I reply as I shake his hand, unnerved by this revelation. “This is my friend Gabe.”
Felix turns to Gabe and holds out his hand. “Gabe. That’s a nice, normal name.” Then he turns back to me. “Torren sounds made up. Like the word torn, but with extra letters.”
“Says the guy who’s named after a cartoon cat.”
He leans a little closer and speaks in a low, sultry voice, “I’d meow, but we only just met.”
I let out a sharp burst of laughter that surprises me. I never laugh like this. He beams with pride, his eyes crinkling as he smiles before donning a flirty expression and giving me a once-over.
Jesus, he’s drooling over me, and it’s too hard to resist. “Like what you see?” I ask.
“Maybe.” He sings, and the fire that was simmering within engulfs my entire body. He’s so freaking cute and playful. His eyes twinkle with mischief. There’s so much life in them.
“So, is the coffee any good?” He asks.
I pick up the cup and look at the black sludge. “It’s the worst coffee in the world.”
“Haha! Then why do you drink it?”
Why do I drink it? I could make my own, but what fun is that? “It’s a ritual. I get a black coffee and an old-fashioned donut here every day.”
Felix nods, pursing his lips while looking at me contemplatively. “That donut? You get that every day?”
“Sure do.”
“Wow, how adventurous. You’re a regular Indiana Jones.”
I bark out a surprised laugh. “You’re a brat, aren’t you?” I say right before I take a sip of terrible coffee.
“If I say yes, will you give me a spanking?” he replies while batting his lashes.
Terrible timing. I do a spit take, coffee landing on the counter, and guffaw. My head falls back, and I hold my belly as I cackle.
He’s laughing as well, the two of us cracking up at the mess I made.
“Did that one surprise you?” he asks as he grabs a wad of napkins and reaches across the counter to wipe my chin.
My hand shoots out before I can stop it, grabbing his wrist. “Careful.”
His eyes widen, and I swear he looks excited. I release him and laugh it off. “Unexpected is all.”
“See? You should keep me around. I’m fun and can really liven up these rituals you’re chained to.”
I finish cleaning up my face, embarrassed that I just spewed coffee. “Only if you promise not to make me spit up my coffee. Tasting it on the way down is bad enough.”