Page 46 of Off the Mark
“You are?” she asked, both brows raised.
“I’ve been told.”
Tina laughed again before calling out an order for two coffees to the frenzied crew working over skillets in the middle of the cramped, crowded space. It looked like a roadside diner you’d pull into off Route 66, plopped into the middle of this chaotic market.
When Tina turned back, she waggled her finger between the two of us. “What’s your deal then? Rowan doesn’t usually bring a lot of ladies around for breakfast.”
I met Rowan’s gaze—he shifted on the stool, then placed his hand on my knee and squeezed. I could feel the tip of each finger, firm through the thin fabric of my yoga pants.
“Charlie’s my girlfriend.” Another squeeze. “And I told her shehadto have the best scrapple in the city.”
“Holy shit,” Tina said, drawing each syllable out. “I thought I’d never see the day.”
I dropped my chin into my hand and attempted my best version ofheart eyesat the roguish redhead across from me. “I sure am a lucky girl.”
“Ha,” Tina snorted. She waved her towel at us before turning back to the coffee pot. “Don’t sell yourself short, bike lady. More like Rowan’s the lucky one.”
I gave him a pointed look. “This is where you start worshiping the ground that I walk on.”
Heat sparked through his eyes. His hand slid a half-inch higher on my leg. “That’s what the scrapple’s for, bike lady. And Tina’s right about who the lucky one really is.”
Two coffees arrived in tan mugs. Rowan snatched his up, but kept his other hand above my knee, a constant, intimate pressure.
“Is this the locals’ place?” I asked.
He nodded, twisting his mug on the counter. “Plenty of locals do their shopping here, and it’s got a long history, but the vibe can be touristy, especially in the summer. A lot of folks in South Philly hate coming uptown but my grandmother used to do her shopping here when I was little. We’d take the subway together and, if I wasgood, we’d come to Tina’s after.”
“I call bullshit that you were evergood.”
Another squeeze of his fingers. “I do like to misbehave. But you already knew that, Maddox.”
I considered him over my mug. “Look at you, flirting your ass off this early in the morning.”
“I can’t flirt with my girlfriend?”
“Fake,” I said softly, even as I was leaning closer.
“Yeah, but there are people over there, buying pretzels, with moto hats on, and they’ve been watching you this whole damn time.”
He reached forward and brushed the end of my ponytail from my shoulders. Then slid his hand, warm from the coffee mug, around the back of my neck. His thumb traced circles along my skin, and I could claimpretendall I wanted, but there was no hiding the goosebumps he caused.
It was a comforting touch, more affectionate than sexual, and not the kind I was used to. The shitty boyfriends I’d had only ever touched me with a single intention: to get me into bed.
This felt…nice. Easy.Safe.
Though who was I kidding? I was certain Rowan touched every woman he took home like this. He was that kind of guy. It may havefeltnice, but that didn’t mean I was anything like that to him.
I hadn’t moved, but my thoughts must have shown on my face. Rowan’s brows knit together in response.
“Hey, are you okay?” he asked.
“Oh yeah,” I said, using our arriving food as an excuse to pull away, “just super stoked about this breakfast.”
It took a moment, but he schooled his expression, pointing at my fried eggs, scrapple, and home fries with his fork. “I’m already sayingyou’re welcome.”
I took a bite—the meat was fried, crispy, salty.
Just how I liked it. Just how I used to tellRowanI liked it at Jolene’s.
