“Gross,” Brig says. “I don’t want to know about my brother being a powerhouse in bed. I feel fine just assuming they all have dicks and know how to use them properly.”
“I heard all the Knightlys are good in bed,” Rylee says.
“We’re not too shabby.” Brig dusts off his shoulders and it makes me smile even wider. I struggle to believe Brig’s a “powerhouse” in bed, but I could see him being methodical, a guy who takes his time, draws out each and every orgasm with purpose. And that turns me on even more than some alpha guy flipping me on a bed.
“What about you, Ruth, are you into kink?” And just like that, the smile I was sporting from Brig vanishes as I look over at my friend, who seems entirely too pleased with herself.
“Are you?” Eve asks, feigning interest. Next girls night, these two are going to get some wine tossed down their backs.
“Totally interested in the kink answer,” Beck says, joining in. Okay, he’s fired. Have fun dealing with your triplets.
Brig glances around the circle, shrugs and asks, “Well?”
Great.
There are two ways I can handle this situation. I can recoil into coffee house Ruth, wave receipts in everyone’s faces, mumbling about having to close up, and sprint to the back. Or, I can act as if Brig wasn’t here and answer the way I would normally answer.
Option one would avoid possible embarrassment.
Option two would give me great reason to once again, reveal more of me to Brig . . . with the heavy chance of utter humiliation.
Either way, I’m going to be embarrassed, so I might as well make strides with Brig so he can get to know the true me.
“Am I into kink?” I place the receipts in a zip-up pouch that I tuck under the counter. “Not sure what level of friskiness would qualify as kink. I do know I have a pressing date with my vibrator though, so if you all don’t mind, I’m going to take off.” I remove my apron and slap it against Beck’s chest and say, “Thanks for closing up for me. Can’t keep those batteries waiting.”
Beck clutches the apron to his chest, looking annoyed but proud.
Rylee’s eyes twinkle.
Eve chuckles softly and Brig . . . well . . . he probably has the best reaction of them all.
Mouth agape, hair in hand, eyes wide.
“See ya.” Hands shaking, nerves shot—I can’t believe I said that—I walk out the door and start heading toward Knight and Port. Even though I live right above the coffee house, I still need some dinner, and I’m not about to make myself something with the meager contents of my pantry upstairs. No, I need a reward.
I need a baked bean sandwich.
“Ruthie, hold up.” I hear Brig’s voice call out as he catches up to me on the sidewalk. “I came to talk to you.”
“Oh?”
He nods, his eyes quickly glancing down my body and then back up. I’m wearing black leggings today and a tight-fitting green T-shirt. It’s nothing special, nothing that would catch anyone’s eyes. It’s comfortable for a day at Snow Roast.
“I, uh, I don’t want to keep you from your date.” A smile plays at his lips. “But I wanted to know if everything was okay. I didn’t, uh, see you at the Parlor today.”
“You stopped by?” I ask just as the wind picks up, blowing my hair over my face. I take the ponytail holder from my wrist, flip over, and grip my hair close to my scalp, tying it into a messy bun at the top. When I lift back up, Brig’s eyes fall to my hair and I might be crazy, but I swear I catch the smallest of pulls on the corner of his mouth. As if he likes my hair like this. “Brig?”
“Oh yeah, sorry.” He chuckles and rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, I stopped by because I wanted to see what you were working on today and if you needed any help. I was surprised you weren’t there.”
“Figured I’d pull some weight at Snow Roast.” I nod toward the coffee shop only to see Eve, Rylee, and Beck all pressed up against the window, watching us.
Oh dear God.
Attempting to keep my expression neutral and not appear completely horrified, I shift to the side so Brig’s back completely faces Snow Roast. No need for him to find them all gazing at us, idiotic smirks decorating their faces.
“Cool, yeah. Well, I actually . . . wait, aren’t you headed back to your place?”
“Going to grab a baked bean sandwich first.”
“Hell, that’s my favorite.” His gaze trails down the street toward Knight and Port. “Would it be weird if I asked to walk with you? You said baked bean sandwich and now it’s all I’ll be able to think about.”
“Um, sure,” I say, rubbing both my hands down my pant legs to remove the sweat on my palms. “I have the same sentiment about the sandwich.”
Brig leads the way and I walk next to him, feeling nervous and giddy. I’ve never spent this much time with him. And I’m wondering if it has to do with being work neighbors or that I’m finally showing my true self to him. Either way, I’m excited.
I’m walking with Brig Knightly.
Down Main Street.
*Squeals*
“When Reid first introduced the baked bean sandwich I thought he was crazy, but then I had a bite . . .” He pats his stomach. “Haven’t been able to resist them since. Any mention and I’m practically sprinting to Knight and Port for a bite.”
“I’m the same. I didn’t even give it a second thought when I saw it on the menu. I knew I had to try it.”
“Should have guessed that, given your penchant for odd ice cream flavor combinations.”
“Hey, you liked it.”
He purposefully bumps my shoulder with his and says, “It was really good. Been craving it since we had it the other day.”
“I’m starting to see a trend here, Brig.”
“What’s that?” he asks, his voice so easy, so comfortable that I feel myself slowly getting lost in the moment as we make our way down the sidewalks toward the harbor.
“Coffee cake, baked bean sandwich, ice cream . . . I think you’re a foodie.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, it’s why I run six miles every day.”
“Every day?” I ask. “I’m not sure I can run one.”
“Ah, come one, Ruthie, you can run one.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think I’ve ever run for fun in my life.”
“One of those lucky girls then,” he says, glancing at my body. “Good genes.”
A compliment? A week ago, I would have told you that I’d never even been a blip on Brig Knightly’s radar. Yet . . . compliments. “More like always on my feet working. Don’t get much of a break to eat during the day.”
“Ah, I can see that.” He wraps his arm around my shoulder and squeezes me in tight to his side, and I barely can contain the rapid patter of my heart trying to break through my chest. “Stick with me, Ruthie. I’ll get you eating every meal, sometimes twice. Nothing wrong with a second lunch.” He laughs and I do too, but it comes out more strained than anything.
“If that’s the case, then I would have to start running.”
“Then start,” he says as we cross the empty street and walk diagonally across the road to the entrance of Knight and Port. “You can run with me in the mornings.”