Читать книгу Wild Ride Cowboy - Maisey Yates - Страница 11

CHAPTER FIVE

CLARA QUESTIONED HERSELF as she walked into The Grind early the next morning. It was Asher’s day off, apparently, and he had not been in Stim when she had driven by that morning, so she had left and gone to Cassie’s coffeeshop because she liked their hot chocolate better.

Stim had some kind of bitter, extra dark chocolate, and that was not what she wanted. Frankly, she didn’t like anything on their menu. None of it was sweet. And as Alex had pointed out the day they had run into each other there—or rather, the day he had orchestrated the two of them to run into each other there—everything only came in one size.

The Grind was busy. It was a place people liked to sit and hang out at, as opposed to Stim, which seemed to attract people who were there to get something to go. There were only a couple of tables in that shop, and they didn’t have the variety of baked goods that The Grind had.

Of course, really, she should be back home in bed. It was just that she had woken up early after barely sleeping the night before, and she had known Alex would be coming by the ranch soon, and she hadn’t wanted to be there when he arrived.

It was silly, but spending the day with him yesterday had left her feeling emotionally wrung out.

They had talked about Jason, and while that was probably a good thing, it was also hard.

There was something about being around Alex that made her skin feel like it was too tight, made her scalp feel prickly and sensitive. It was the emotional thing, it had to be.

It couldn’t be anything else. All she had done was toss and turn until the sky had turned gray this morning.

It was cloudy now, and she had a feeling the time on their sunny weather had run out. It’d been an abnormally warm streak, with blessedly clear skies.

But of course the clouds always rolled back in.

She waited patiently in line until it was her turn, and then ordered an extra-sweet hot chocolate with whipped cream and candy cane pieces from the girl behind the counter.

She also got a brownie.

She figured if people could justify eating doughnuts for breakfast, a brownie should be fine.

She took her treats back to one of the bistro tables and sat, pulling out her phone—which still didn’t have service, but could hook up to Wi-Fi and had games that were functional—and started playing a puzzle game.

She was in a blissful state of sugar-fueled zoning out when the chair across from her moved. She looked up and her eyes clashed with Alex, who was standing there holding a to-go cup.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, realizing belatedly that it wasn’t the friendliest of greetings.

“Getting coffee,” he said, “since you apparently don’t have any.”

“Oh.”

She was still being very unfriendly, but she was not ready for this. She was not ready for him.

“I was on my way to your place,” he said, “and I stopped in here because I realized I needed another hit.”

She scrunched her face up into an expression of faux concern. “Are you stalking me lazily again?”

“No. Just stalking caffeine.” He took a seat across from her without asking for her permission.

She could only marvel at how badly her avoiding-Alex plan was going.

He looked at her cup, which had whipped cream still covering the top of the drink, little candy pieces nestled upon it. “Do I want to know what that is?”

She frowned. “A cup of diabetes, and it’s no one’s business but mine.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself. I need harder stuff.”

“Chocolate has caffeine, you know.”

“Right. I prefer not to screw around with mine.”

She lifted her cup to her lips and took a sip, and he did the same.

She couldn’t help but watch the way his lips touched the rim, the way he held the cup in his hand. Which really was rather large. And masculine.

She returned her own cup to her lips and took a swallow that was much too large, scalding her throat.

She put the hot chocolate down, pulling a face.

“I didn’t think you worked today,” he said.

“I don’t,” she responded tartly.

“Then what are you doing out? I thought you were all about sleeping in and blankets and stuff.”

“I couldn’t sleep last night, if you must know,” she said, opting for honesty, though God knew why.

“Why?”

He made her want to throw her hot chocolate in his face. He was just so...persistent. He was caring, in a way that he could never sustain. She didn’t want to get used to having someone around again only to have to deal with them leaving. There was no point to it. And she was just...exhausted. Tired of that kind of thing.

“I was thinking about Jason,” she said finally.

“Sorry.”

“You don’t need to be sorry. You didn’t kill him.”

Neither of them said anything after that. They just sat there, sipping their respective drinks.

Alex made her more aware of her surroundings, hyperaware, and when the door opened again, her head whipped around to look. Sabrina walked through, and stopped when she saw them.

“Hi, Clara,” she said, her voice stiffer than usual.

“Good morning,” Clara said.

“Just grabbing coffee on the way to work,” Sabrina continued. She was shifting her gaze between Clara and Alex with an odd expression on her face, and Clara wanted desperately to tell her that whatever she was thinking, it wasn’t that.

“Us too,” Clara said, then winced because she’d made it sound like they’d gone to coffee together, or that they were a unit functioning as one. An us. “I mean, I was here. Alex happened to be here too. Separate from me.”

“Okay,” Sabrina responded, her expression growing still more skeptical.

Clara knew she was already verging on protesting too much, but as Sabrina walked toward the counter to get her coffee, Clara had to fight with herself to keep from laying on more excuses and justifications.

“Now she’s thinking weird things about us,” Clara said.

“Weird things, huh?” Alex asked. “What kind of weird things?”

“You know,” she said, not bothering to hide her exasperation.

The door opened again and Clara turned to see who it was this time.

Her heart jumped into her throat.

She reached across the table, yanking Alex’s cup of coffee from his hand, then shoving her mug of hot chocolate into the blank space in front of him as she lifted his cup to her lips and took a sip. She did her best to control her face as she glanced to where Asher had just come through the door.

He was looking straight ahead at the chalkboard menu above the counter, his expression serious.

“Hi,” she said, her voice sounding high and stupid.

She wanted to bite off her tongue. What had she been thinking trying to get Asher’s attention? She was with Alex and he was going to think she was with Alex. And then Alex was going to mock her mercilessly later. And she had surrendered her hot chocolate.

Asher turned toward them, confusion and surprise on his handsome face.

Alex, for his part, seemed to be frozen between what looked to be a state of amusement. He looked from her to Asher, then back to her.

Clara wanted to punch him.

“Are you cheating on Stim, Clara?” Asher asked, treating her to a warm smile as he shoved his hands in the pockets of his skinny jeans.

She had determined she wasn’t going to compare him to Alex, but it was difficult when they were in such close proximity to each other. Alex was broad, big. He was wearing a battered old jacket, a blue Henley with the top two buttons undone, and his white cowboy hat, now sitting on the table because he’d removed it when he’d sat down. Asher was shorter, his frame more slight. He had his hair back, and was wearing a leather bomber-style jacket that looked new, along with a sweater and a scarf. His jeans looked distressed, but artfully so.

Looking at Asher made something in her chest ache. He was just...everything she wasn’t. And part of her thought that if she was just able to be with him, to be near him, he could give her some of what she lacked.

He was polished, put together, and she was sitting there in a flannel drinking a hot chocolate.

Well, at least now she didn’t look like she was drinking a hot chocolate.

“I could ask you the same question,” she countered playfully, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and tilting her head to the side. “Are you cheating on Stim?”

“Checking out the competition,” he said, smiling. “Actually, I like a variety of roasts. What Cassie has here is pretty good. It’s nice to change it up.”

“Oh yeah, me too. I’m all about the um...variety. In roasts.” Clara lifted the coffee again, but she didn’t actually take a drink this time.

Asher’s gaze slid to Alex, and so did Clara’s.

“This is my brother’s friend,” she said, the words coming out quickly. “My brother who died.”

Asher flinched, and she realized she’d done a pretty ham-fisted job of introducing that topic. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay.” She hadn’t gone out of her way to talk to Asher about Jason. In fact, she had kind of done what she could to avoid bringing it up with him. It made him even more of a safe space. More of a vacation from the rest of her life.

“It’s just... He’s helping me out with some things. My brother left him some stuff.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding. She couldn’t tell if he was relieved, or if he was wondering why she was bothering to give him so many details. She wished she knew something about men—anything about men.

“Well, I’m meeting some friends for a hike in a bit, so I’ve got to grab my coffee and get moving. It was good to see you.”

“You too,” she said, watching him as he walked to the counter. Then she let out a long breath she didn’t know she had been holding and set the coffee down. “Stupid small towns.”

“Well, that was quite the display,” Alex said, sounding decidedly amused now.

“Shut up,” she responded.

“So you have to pretend to like coffee all the time for this guy. Not just so you can go in and buy coffee from him, but so he doesn’t know you’re basically a hummingbird who exists on sugared nectar.”

“I am not a hummingbird,” she groused.

“You probably have the heart rate of one, considering how much junk you consume on a given day.”

“Bite me,” she said.

Alex only stared at her, his green eyes sharpening slightly. And she felt it. In her chest. Like something inside of her had turned over.

She breathed in deep, trying to dispel the tension. It didn’t work.

“He seems...like he’s from Portland,” Alex said.

She had a feeling that wasn’t a compliment.

“He is,” she said. “He moved out here to help start the coffee shop. He likes the slower pace. And how authentic everyone is here.”

“I see.” Alex rubbed his hand across his chin, the sound of his palm moving over his whiskers like sandpaper on wood. “So, you know a lot about him. But he apparently didn’t know you had a brother that died. And he thinks you like coffee. Does he also think you like kale salads?”

She picked a candy piece off her cocoa. “Kale has never come up in conversation.”

Alex looked over to where Asher was standing, now ordering his coffee. It looked like a long, involved ordering process. There were hand gestures.

“Really?” Alex looked incredulous. “He seems like the kind of guy who brings up kale on the second or third conversation.”

She tapped the side of her mug. “We did talk about quinoa once.”

“That’s hilarious.”

“He says it’s problematic because of the way that it’s sourced.” She had been relieved because quinoa was on her “never try” food list.

“And you want to date him?” Alex asked, his eyebrows raised. “You want to go out with this guy, invite him in after, make out with him on your couch?”

Clara felt her face getting warm. “I don’t... I like him. Yes, he’s into some different things than I am. But that’s actually good. It’s interesting. I haven’t... I’ve never done anything, Alex. I live here. I’ve always lived here. I’ve always had the ranch. And knowing Asher has taught me new things.”

“Let me guess...he’s part of your honey initiative.”

She let out an exasperated growl. “We might have had a conversation about the issues with the bee population and why producing your own local honey is an asset.”

Alex shook his head. “Well, isn’t that something. The girl who can’t swallow an onion got bees because some hipster coffee shop guy told her to. And she also does her best to choke down black coffee in his presence. I mean, I guess you can’t fight that kind of attraction. If you’re willing to do those things for him...”

She didn’t like that he was making fun of her. That he was taking this incredibly private thing that she had never experienced before and making light of it. She also didn’t like the fact that she couldn’t quite connect his words with the reality of the situation. Attraction. Making out on her couch.

Of course she was attracted to Asher. She had just checked out his butt the other day.

But for some reason, reminding herself of that just reminded her of seeing Alex’s bare chest.

“Yeah, so what?” She did her best to keep her face steady, to keep her expression smooth, even though she had a feeling her cheeks were rosy. “I want to get into his pants.”

“I don’t know, honey, those pants are pretty tight. I think getting into them would be a challenge.”

She made a scoffing sound. “You’re horrible.”

He stood up. “Maybe.” He swallowed down the rest of the coffee. “I’m going to go work now. I’ll see you at the ranch. Give you some time to talk to your boyfriend.”

“Are you in high school, or what?”

“Are you? Because if not, why are you waiting for him to make a move? If you really want him, you should ask him out. Life is short, right?”

And then Alex walked out, leaving her at the table by herself.

Asher chose that moment to turn around, and he noticed that Alex was gone. His expression shifted slightly, and he walked back over to the table. “So, he’s just your brother’s friend?”

“Yeah,” she said quickly.

“Okay,” Asher said. “Well, I’ll see you around.”

He started to walk toward the door and Clara bit her lip, warring with indecision. Then she figured, screw it. “Wait,” she said. “Are you...do you...do you want to hang out sometime? I mean, you said you did. But can we pick a tangible time to do that?”

Asher assessed her slowly. “Sure,” he said. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well...there’s a farm-to-table dinner event happening at Grassroots Winery. I thought maybe you would want to go.”

They were serving absolutely nothing at that dinner that Clara could force down her throat, and she had no idea what she was doing.

“Yeah, that sounds good. When is it?”

“Next Sunday night. If you’re free. It’s at seven.”

“Sure,” he said. “Sounds good. Want to meet in the parking lot at Stim?”

That was a little disappointing. She wanted him to pick her up. So that later, he could drive her home. And then maybe there would be couch making out.

But if meeting in a parking lot worked for him, she wasn’t going to complain about the details.

“Perfect,” she said.

“Great. See you.”

Part of her wanted to demand that he write it down in front of her so she knew he wouldn’t forget, but she had already made the first move, so she wasn’t going to be a crazy person.