She blinked slowly as she dragged her gaze from his thick-soled boots to his navy pants and matching shirt. There was a fire department logo on the man’s mesmerizing chest. She could make out his puckered nipples on account of his muscles pressing enticingly against the thin fabric. Decorating the curves of his strong arms, tattoos peeked out from under his short sleeves. When Alana’s attention landed on his throat, she froze. It was scarred on one side, from the neck of his shirt to just under his ear.
“How can I do you?” she asked, eyes riveted on his mangled throat.
“What?” he asked, a hard edge to his tone.
Oh, God. “Uh, I mean, how can I help you? I mixed that up with ‘what can I do for you’ and made it into ‘how can I do you.’ Which…” She shook her head and forced a laugh. “That’s not what I meant. I’m good on the…doing it…area…of my life.” Shut the fuck up!
The giant snorted, and it was then she dared a look into his eyes. Bright blue under blond eyebrows and sparking with curiosity, though the set of his mouth was grim.
He locked his arms on the counter and lifted his attention to the chalkboard menu above her.
“Oh, my gosh. Your arm!” She jammed a finger at the long burn mark that had eaten into his flesh. It was red and blistered, but he didn’t seem to be favoring it. “Do you want me to call an ambulance?” She jerked her cell phone from her pocket and hit the 911 before he reached over her and poked the end call button.
“I know the guys in the ambulance. I already told them I was fine.” He arched his animated brows. “And I am.”
“But it looks like you stuck your arm in an oven. Doesn’t it hurt?”
“Nah. It’s a reminder.”
“Of what? Not to cook your arm?”
“To be more careful with who I trust.”
Mysterious, yummy. Alana fought the urge to add that to the bottom of the list and instead carefully asked, “What can I get you?” Besides her teats and treasure box because he could have those free of charge.
“Uh, I’ve never been here before.”
Obviously. She would’ve remembered a sexy yeti like him.
“What’s good?” he asked.
“Everything.” She gestured grandly to the breakfast pastry window beside her. “I bake everything myself. And the coffee doesn’t suck either.”
“Try her raspberry cinnamon rolls,” Bradford called out from the table in the corner. He and his buddies always came in first thing to talk about the latest news in town—which wasn’t that enthralling because Bryson City was population 1500. Nothing exciting ever happened here.
Sexy Yeti tossed old man Bradford a look over his shoulder, nodded a greeting, then told Alana, “Yeah, that sounds good. And a coffee. Black.”
“Manly,” she muttered, entering his order into the cash register.
Sexy Yeti was in the middle of pulling his wallet from his back pocket and asked, “What’s that?”
“Hmmm?” she asked.
He was pointing at the dream man list, so she snatched it off the counter. Heat blasted up her neck and landed in her cheeks. “N-nothing.”
“A medium dick, huh?”
Crap. Her fingers shook as she reached for a to-go cup. “What name should I put on this?” She hovered her sharpie over the cardboard sleeve on the cup.
“Pen.”
“What?”
“People call me Pen One Five.”
“Why not Pen Fifteen?”
Pen shrugged and looked at the total on the screen, slid the money across the counter, and gave her a half smile. “I’m lookin’ forward to that pastry.”
Okay then. She wrote Pen15 on the cup and internally kicked herself. She had definitely made a play to get Sexy Yeti’s real name, and he’d refused it. He strode toward a booth on the opposite side of Bradford and the Senior Seven, as they called themselves.
She’d never seen him around these parts before, and she knew almost everyone in town. It was a big deal when newcomers showed up, so no doubt he would have a dozen tits in his face by Friday from the eligible bachelorettes in this one-horse town.
That’s why she was moving away from here. No future, no one to settle down with.
As her thoughts buzzed around the move preparations, Alana gathered his pastry into a small to-go box and poured his coffee. She looked at the name on the cup and called out, “Pen…is.” She narrowed her eyes at the Pen15, which definitely looked like the word ‘penis,’ and snorted. Well-played, Sexy Yeti. “Penis,” she muttered again louder with a glare for him. His face cracked into a grin. He definitely had good teeth and a good smile. Number five, check.
As he approached from his booth, he told her, “You should add great sense of humor to your fuck-list.”
Her mouth fell open at his crassness. “It is not a fuck-list. This is what I want in a long term relationship, not a one-night-stand.”
Unable to handle the look of at that awful burn on his arm a second longer, she pulled the first-aid kit out from under the counter and rifled through it. “And furthermore, I’m not like that. I don’t just…you know…sleep with men and move on with my life the next day. Sex means something big to me.” She slapped the small tube of burn cream onto the counter. Alana wanted to stay offended, but Sexy Yeti’s face went completely slack as he stared down at the medicine. And when he looked back at her, his eyes looked strange. A different color almost. There was a moment of such raw vulnerability there, it made her feel off-balance. Alana rested her palms on the counter so she wouldn’t sway on her feet.