Chapter 5 Hope
HOPE
“Caramel latte and cranberry scone!”
The baristas take turns calling out coffee and pastry orders. I’m on a deadline, but for some reason, I couldn’t focus at home. I needed a change of scenery, and since I thrive in chaos, this seemed like the perfect solution today.
It’s only Tuesday, so I have no expectations of running into Frost because I told him I’m here every Saturday. Not like he’d be here anyway. Frost said he wasn’t from around these parts and was only passing through on his way to meet up with some friends.
A girl can dream, though.
I lift my headphones and slip them over my ears.
Closing my eyes, I hum along with Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree before opening my computer.
When I finally look at the screen, an unfinished sentence taunts me as I tap my fingers on the tabletop and will the words to jump out of my brain and leap onto the document.
“Come on, Hope,” Scarlett whines. “I want to get laid.”
“Don’t we all?” I mutter just as a shadow drapes across the table, and I feel a presence behind me.
“Don’t we all, what?” the shadow asks.
I recognize that voice… Frost. His deep baritone voice is engraved in my soul. I’ve fallen asleep the past few days dreaming about that voice. My heart flutters in my chest, and my pussy spasms in response. I glance up from my laptop and freeze.
“Frost,” I whisper breathlessly.
Turning around slowly, I look up and gasp. He looks different… rougher than he did on Saturday. His cheek is swollen, and a blueish-green bruise has formed. There’s a cut above his eye being held together with a butterfly strip.
Frost hands me a steaming cup of coffee. “I assume you’re still a fan of peppermint mochas?”
His devilish smile makes my knees go weak, making me thankful I’m sitting down. My fingers brush his when he hands me the drink. Time stills for a brief moment, and the glow from the overhead light encases him like a halo.
I gesture toward the seat opposite me before I can psyche myself out. “You, uh… want to sit?”
His eyes flick to the empty chair, then back to my face, as if he’s searching for any signs of hesitancy. “I wouldn’t want to interrupt your work,” he says.
“You’re not.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “Seriously. Sit.”
Frost slides onto the chair. “So, don’t we all what?”
My brows furrow in confusion. “Huh?”
He chuckles. “When I was behind you, I heard you say, ‘Don’t we all’, so my question darlin’, is ‘don’t we all’ what?”
Fuck my life. Of course, the hottest biker on the planet had to hear me talking to myself.
“Oooh, he’s sexy, Hope,” Scarlett confirms. “Now I know why you said ‘don’t we all’. One look at him and my panties have melted.”
“What the fuck, woman?” Lachlan grits his teeth. “You’re. Fucking. Mine. Quit drooling over other men.”
“A girl can look without touching,” Scarlett defends teasingly. “Besides, before we met, you were screwing anything with a vagina.”
“Jesus.” I slowly close my computer's lid in hopes of drowning out their continued argument. That’s gonna be fun to clean up later.
Frost clears his throat, and my cheeks redden as I realize he’s witnessed more of my crazy behavior. He must sense my unease because he lowers his gaze to the paper sleeve around his cup.
What the hell do I do now?
Before I can talk myself out of it, my mouth moves on its own accord. “Well, well,” I chide jokingly. “Did you go a few rounds with Mike Tyson? Looks like he might’ve won this one.”
His eyes snap toward me, and that burning gaze knocks the air right out of my lungs.
A slow smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Tyson wishes.”
“Oh?” I lean back against the cushion. “So, it’s the you should see the other guy scenario?”
“Probably not,” he says, voice low and amused. “Tank’s not looking his best today.”
Tank? Who the heck has a name like Tank? Maybe he’s another biker…
I bite back a smile. “And you are? Because I hate to break it to you, but you’ve got the whole… rugged, beat-to-hell thing going on right now.”
“Rugged, huh?” Frost leans closer, and suddenly the table between us feels too small. “That sounds almost like a compliment.”
“Don’t let it go to your head,” I say. “I write romance for a living, remember? It’s a description I’ve used many times for alpha males.”
I take a sip of the delicious peppermint chocolatey goodness before my mouth can get me into any more trouble.
His eyes sparkle with mischief. “So, you’re saying I’m an alpha male?”
I choke on my drink. “No… I… No… I mean,” I sputter. “Can we pretend this conversation never happened and start over?”
He laughs, and God help me, the sound goes straight to my lady parts. “Nah, I kinda wanna hear more about alpha males.”
“Oh, shut it.” I tap my head dramatically. “Once you climb inside here, there’s no getting out.”
“Hope,” he says quietly. His gaze lingers on me in a way that contradicts his entire rough-edged exterior. And just like that, the coffee shop feels smaller.
“So,” I say, swallowing. “Want to tell me what happened to your face, or should I just stick with the Tyson theory?”
He smirks. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
Frost leans back, crossing his big arms over his chest. The movement pulls his T-shirt tight across his shoulders.
Despite the bruises, he still looks like he walked out of one of my novels.
Chiseled jaw line, broad shoulders, muscular arms, a smoldering smile, dark chocolate eyes, and hair so dark it’s almost black.
Let’s not forget a voice that could melt your clothes right off.
Yep, every woman’s fantasy come to life.
“So,” I say, tapping my fingers against my cup. “Tell me what happened.”
He shifts, gaze dropping to the table for a second before meeting mine again. “It was… just a fight.”
“A fight,” I repeat. “Like an argument? Or like a ‘my face met someone’s fist’ fight?”
“The second one.” His tone is calm, too calm, like this is a common occurrence for him. “Underground fighting ring. Nothing official.”
I blink. “You—wait, you really were fighting?”
“I do it sometimes. It helps clear my head. Didn’t plan on catching one to the jaw, but…,” He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “It happens.”
I stare at him. “You fought someone. Like… for real, to clear your head?”
“For real,” he echoes, eyes glinting.
“And you won?”
He gives me a look that should be illegal. It’s full of amusement mixed with confidence and a little danger. “Of course, I won.”
Oh. Wow. Okay.
My stomach does that stupid swoopy thing it hasn’t done since I was fifteen.
“Well, that explains the whole Tyson vibe.”
“And here I thought you liked it.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You implied it.”
“Not necessarily,” I counter. “I was strictly making an observation.”
He leans forward, forearms resting on the table. “And when your breath hitched just now, what was that?”
I shift nervously. “You are way too observant.”
He grins. “Only with you.”
My breath catches at that, which is ridiculous since we’ve only met once. He rescued me from a creep, and we had one small conversation. Against my better judgment, my insides warm at the thought that he also felt that instant connection.
“So you fight in underground rings,” I say, trying to sound cool and failing. “Then you end up here, in a coffee shop, on a Tuesday afternoon?”
“Needed somewhere quiet to think. Somewhere that wasn’t the club.” He shrugs. “Besides, I was hoping to run into the beautiful woman I met on Saturday.”
Questions prick at the back of my tongue, but I swallow them. He’s already given me more than he meant to. I can tell.
“Well,” I say, “I’m glad you came here.”
His eyes soften. “Yeah. Me too.”
My mouth picks this moment to stop listening to my brain. “Are you hungry?”
His brows lift. “Hungry?”
“Yeah. You know, dinner?” My heart hammers. “I, um… I was going to head home soon and cook something. You could join me, if you want. I mean, if you don’t have to go meet your friends again.”
Frost stills as if the offer freezes him in place. His eyes search mine, slow and careful. It’s almost like he’s trying to figure out if my offer is sincere. When he finally speaks, his voice is low and rough. “You’re inviting me to your place?”
“Yes.” My palms sweat. “Is that too weird? Y-y-you don’t have to. I’m going to make homemade spaghetti sauce and meatballs for dinner, and I always make too much. Oh, and I make garlic bread…” My voice trails off as I watch him continue to stare without moving a muscle.
Great. You’ve scared him off, and now he thinks you’re a psycho.
He watches me for another beat, eyes warm but edged with darkness. “Not weird,” he says softly. “Just unexpected.”
I swallow. “In a bad way?”
“No.” His jaw ticks. “In a way I’m trying not to read too much into.”
I smile, nervous and hopeful all at once. “It’s just dinner. I don’t usually invite strange men into my house.”
His smirk returns. “How do you know I’m not strange?”
I take a deep breath. “Because you don’t seem strange to me.”
His eyes lock on mine. “No. I probably seem more like trouble.”
There’s a flutter low in my stomach. “I can handle a little trouble.”
He holds my gaze for a long moment. “Dinner sounds good.”
“Okay, good. Let’s get out of here.” I quickly pack up my things and lead him out of the café. “You can follow me.”
“Lead the way.”
I dig my cell out of my purse while Frost mounts his bike. Activating my talk-to-text option, I fire off a message to Amy.
Me: You’ll never believe what just happened.
Bestie: You finished your novel, FINALLY
Me: Ugh, quit reminding me
Bestie: So, you gonna spill or leave me in the dark
Me: Frost showed up at the coffee shop AGAIN
I back out of my space as my phone rings. Hitting the green button on the screen, I glance in the rearview mirror to make sure Frost is following me before I pull out onto the street.
“Bitch!” Amy’s voice blares in my speakers. “Tell me everything.”
I give her the play-by-play of our conversation. “Now, he’s following me home for dinner.”
“You’re gonna make your homemade sauce and meatballs?” she questions. “For a guy you just met?”
“Well, when you say it like that…” My voice trails off, and I suddenly second-guess what the hell I’m doing.
“I mean, you must really like him,” she interjects. “I can barely get you to make that for me, and we’ve been besties since we were ten.”
I laugh. “That’s because it’s time-consuming, and you always steal the leftovers.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” She pauses for a moment. “Be careful. He’s still a stranger, and you know nothing about him. This isn’t one of your stories, Hope.”
I blow out a breath. “I know that, Ames. I’ll be fine. I can’t explain it, but I feel safe with him.”
“Fine, but you’d better call me or text me to let me know you’re still alive when he leaves.”
“I will,” I promise. “Okay, got to go, pulling into the parking lot now.”
“Love you, bestie,” she says. “Be safe.”
“Love you, too. Bye.” I say, disconnecting the phone as I pull into my spot.