2. Mallory #2
Then he was gone, the bell above the door chiming as he disappeared down the sidewalk, and I watched him go until he was lost in the crowd. I exhaled slowly and gathered my stuff, shoving my phone into my bag. I had no plans to ever call Mason.
Gathering my stuff and my matcha, I headed toward the exit.
I’d nearly made it out the door when I remembered Mom.
I’d forgotten to get her a drink. I’d been so distracted by dimples.
“Shit,” I muttered under my breath, pivoting sharply on the worn floorboards and slamming directly into something solid.
My nose smashed into a wall that hadn’t been there a second ago.
Not a wall.
A chest.
Hard. Warm. Definitely human.
The impact sent the iced coffee in his hand jerking upward. Liquid sloshed over the plastic lid, splashing cold across my forearm and the front of my tank top. Ice cubes launched themselves toward freedom, scattering across the floor around our feet.
“Oh—shit—” I gasped, stumbling back half a step, my tote bag sliding down my shoulder.
Liquid seeped through the thin fabric of my tank top, and I glanced down to see the dark stain spreading across my chest, which made my nipples more prominent. I slightly groaned, regretting the decision to leave the house without a bra.
“Fuck,” he muttered in a deep voice as a strong hand landed on my shoulder, steadying me, his other still clutching the half-gone drink.
I glanced up, breath catching in my throat. Not because the collision hurt. Because the universe had a deeply cruel sense of timing.
That face.
I knew that face. Sort of. The dark hair, the strong jaw, the build suggesting he did more than just exist in his body. He honed it. Athletic as fuck.
We’d only met minutes ago. Mason.
My brows drew together. How was he back already? Had he forgotten something? Was this town so small that leaving meant circling the block and returning thirty seconds later?
Except…
The longer I stared, and I was definitely staring, which was mortifying, the less it matched the memory I’d filed away three minutes ago.
The eyes, for one. Yes, they were the same shade of light green but were far too serious instead of playful.
No amused cockiness dancing at the corners. Not a speck of recognition gleamed.
His eyes darted from my face to my shirt and my obvious nipples. They hardened under his stare.
What is wrong with me?
Get it together.
And whatever you do, don’t cross your arms over your chest.
“Mason?” I blurted, because my brain was still buffering and my mouth had decided to work independently.
He blinked long, thick lashes at me. “You know my brother?”
Brother?
That explained the resemblance, the bone structure, the height, the way they both seemed to occupy space and demanded attention, the striking light eyes, and the undeniable good looks.
But it didn’t explain the sudden spike in my pulse, the way my skin warmed, or the fact that I was still standing way too close and my body had apparently decided this was the moment to betray me.
Heat crawled up my neck, blooming across my cheeks, while my heart kicked into a rhythm it had absolutely no business exploring.
Like he had all the time in the world, his eyes dragged back up mine, but I’d seen it. The awareness that I was aware.
My breath snagged, audible in the quiet space between us, and I wanted to die.
His head tilted slightly as a ghost of a smirk touched his lips. “You might need a new shirt.”
I swallowed hard, crossing my arms over my nipples while trying to force my brain back online. “I didn’t know he had a brother.” They should come with warning labels.
His brow twitched upward, not cocky like Mason’s had been but curious. “Twin. He’s my twin brother. How do you know him?”
I shrugged. “I don’t. Not really. He was hitting on me and tried to give me his number.”
“Tried?” His brow lifted higher. “Mason doesn’t often fail.”
“Keyword: often.” I uncrossed my arms because the wet shirt was cold and clingy, and I didn’t need to draw more attention to that situation, but I failed.
“Is there something wrong with you?” he asked, shaking spilled coffee off his hand
He was joking. Right? “I tell you I’m not interested in your brother, and you immediately think I’m the problem?”
So much for thinking everyone in this town was friendly. The barista must be the exception.
“You must not be from around here,” he said, glaring at his drink.
Was it that obvious? Did I have a fucking sign on my forehead that read new girl? “Look, I’m sorry about your drink. Let me get you a new one.”
“Don’t worry about it. I know the owners.”
“I insist.” I was already sidestepping him, careful to give him space this time, and headed to the counter. “I was going back anyway when I clumsily ran into you. What were you drinking?”
“An iced latte, extra sugar,” he said, leaning on the counter. He gave the barista a small smile.
“Maddox? Weren’t you just here?” the barista said when she saw him.
His name was Maddox. It suited him.
“I ran into an unexpected…mishap. Can I get another iced latte with extra sugar?” His gaze shifted to me, brows raised.
Mishap?
Did he just refer to me as a mishap? Why was I offended?
“Are you two together?” she asked, glancing between Maddox and me.
“No.” I shook my head, trying to regain my composure.
“I mean, yes, for coffee only. We’re not dating, that is.
” I was rambling, and my mouth wouldn’t stop saying dumb shit.
Taking a breath, I rattled off my order.
“Can I get the same? And a napkin. Actually, several napkins. There’s a crime scene by the door. ”
The barista gave me a once-over before glancing at the mess by the door. It didn’t take a genius to put together what happened. My stained shirt gave me away.
“Sorry,” I apologized as I paid.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll get someone to clean it up. At least it’s not blood like Maddox’s usual mishaps,” she said, tossing Maddox’s choice word back at him. I instantly liked her.
“Christ, Pais, you make me sound like a serial killer,” Maddox replied gruffly, a note of familiarity between them. It was clear they knew each other.
I choked on absolutely nothing at the mention of serial killer, drawing their attention back to me.
“You okay?” Maddox asked, brows bunching together, looking at me weirdly.
I nodded, silently cursing myself.
Maddox stayed to the side of the counter, chatting with the barista while I waited for my drink and tried hard not to stare at where he stood, but my eyes kept drifting, pulled by his presence. There was something about him I found impossible to ignore.
When the drinks were ready, I grabbed both cups and walked back, holding out his iced latte.
He took it, fingers brushing mine for half a second.
A shiver tiptoed up my arm. “Thanks,” he said.
“See you tomorrow, Pais.” He moved to leave but paused at the door, glancing over his shoulder at me. “I never got your name.”
“Mallory Hales.”
“Try not to have any more…mishaps.” His gaze flicked to my chest before he turned.
A shiver rolled through me as I watched him leave. I stood near the counter and sighed. I hadn’t meant for it to be an audible sound, but it must have been because Pais laughed softly behind the counter.
“The Corvos have that effect on the female population. Hell, on all the population. Friendly piece of advice you didn’t ask for, new girl… Maddox isn’t someone you want to get mixed up with.”
Was she warning me because she was jealous? I hadn’t sensed anything but a friendly demeanor between them. It was clear he came to the café often. “What about his brother?”
She leaned her elbows on the glass top, the corner of her lip lifting. “Which one?”
“How many does he have?”
“There are four of them. Raine. Kreed. Mason. And Maddox. But only the twins are at home now. The two oldest are in college.”
“You seem to know a lot about them.”
She shrugged. “When you’ve lived here your whole life, you tend to know everything about everyone. I’ve gone to school with the Corvo twins since kindergarten. Trust me when I tell you they are trouble. The lot of them. Fucking gorgeous to look at, but they break more than hearts.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks.” The smart thing to do was to forget this encounter ever happened and never think of Maddox Corvo again.
Too late. I wanted to know more than just his coffee order.
The cottage’s front door resisted, swollen from humidity. I nudged it open with my hip while balancing my matcha and Mom’s latte melting in my hand. The door unstuck with a reluctant creak, and I shuffled inside, careful not to spill again because I’d reached my humiliation quota for the day.