"Yeah. In a good way."
Colt's blue eyes form a shadow that doesn't belong on a face built for charm. I've never seen him look so—
"Oh myGod. He's vulnerable!" Quinn slides down off the counter, her eyes wide with excitement. "Quick, Zoey—snatch him!I need to finish that tattoo before he escapes again!"
"Nobody's snatching anyone," I say firmly, even as my traitorous body is doingveryinterested things at the thought of seeing Colt's firm ass in that tattoo chair again.
Oh God. Don't think about him in that tattoo chair again.
But I can't help it.
It's been two years since anyone touched me. Two years since I felt another person's hands on my skin. Two years of raising Morgan alone, running this bakery alone, lying in bed alone while my vibrator gathered dust in the nightstand drawer because I'm always too fucking exhausted to even think about pleasure.
And now Colt Lane is standing in my bakery, looking at me likethat, and my body has apparently decided to remind me that I'm still a woman with needs.
I study his face, because underneath his usual easy smile and the flirty banter, there's something…wrong.
This morning at the stadium, he was practically bouncing off the walls. He was his usual confident and cocky self. Certain he was about to get cleared to play.
But now?
"Colt." I lower my voice, stepping closer to the counter. "Did something happen at your medical?"
His throat tightens, and those blue eyes flick toward Quinn.
He clears his throat. "Um, maybe a muffin first?"
"Okay."
I clear my throat, trying not to think about him laying in that hospital bed again. We'd only been talking for a few weeks before it happened, but deep down, IknowI had been enjoying the attention he was giving me. Even if I wouldn't allow myself to think it.
"Another muffin and—"
"And whatever else you recommend. I'm in a..." He trails off, and that same flash of vulnerability flickers across his face. "I'm in a… complicated mood."
Quinn pushes off the counter, grabbing her jacket. "Alright. That's my cue to leave you two to yourcomplicated moods." She waggles her eyebrows at me. "I've got an appointment to get to. Text me later, babe. I want details."
I look at Colt, then back to Quinn.
"Um, babe… I don't think I'll be sharing any details…"
"There's always details!" She's already at the door, the bell chiming as she pushes it open. "And Lane? Don't think I've forgotten about that tattoo! Your ass is mine, hockey boy!"
The door swings shut behind her, and suddenly it's just me and Colt in the quiet of my bakery.
The ovens hum softly in the back, and morning sunshine is now happily streaming through the windows, reflecting the gold trim on the display case I installed myself when Morgan was strapped to my chest.
But the man across from me…
"So." Colt moves to the counter, and the space between us shrinks. I get a whiff of his cologne and the citrus scent makes me smile. "Complicated mood. Recommendations?"
I should keep this professional. I should box up a muffin, take his money, and send him on his way before my stupid heart does something even stupider.
But I'm the woman who married her high school sweetheart at nineteen because it seemed like the logical next step.
So instead of doing what I should, I smile at Colt, and offer a kind ear to listen.
"What's going on, Colt?"