Striding over the curb, Jethro yanked open the glass door, scowling at the bell jingling above. A young Italian girl looked up, smiling in welcome.
The rich aroma of coffee and warmth instantly stole the stress from my blood from Kite, the show, and Jethro’s company.
“Sit.” Jethro let me go, pointing toward the faded yellow settee with purple and orange throw cushions. “And don’t move.”
I stood frozen. Jethro had no wish to be here, especially with me. What the hell was going on? First my father pushed me on him, then Jethro barely tolerated my company. Am I that repulsive to the opposite sex?
“Wait,” I said. “Aren’t you going to ask what I want?”
Jethro raised an eyebrow. “No. Want to know why?”
I did. But I didn’t want to play his ridiculous game. I was tired, had been dumped via text, and not wanted even when I practically threw myself at him. The night had turned from promising to disastrous, and I wanted it over.
When I didn’t reply, Jethro waved his hand. “It doesn’t matter what you prefer in beverages. You only get one request and you got it. I’m here against my plans; therefore, you’ll drink what I give you.”
My mouth parted, amazement stealing my ability to shout the incomprehensible phrases jumbled inside. Seriously? Who was this man?
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