Cím: The 27 Club
Műfaj: Kortárs Romantikus, New Adult
Megjelenik: 2015. 03. 03
You don’t know when…
You
don’t get to choose if…
When
it’s time to join…you’ll know.
You
might think you want to be a member—but trust me this is one club you don’t
want to join. It’s not a place where people go to live out their deepest,
darkest sexual desires—there are no handcuffs or blindfolds.
The
27 Club only admits those who die young and tragically. My brother was recently
bestowed membership and joined many of our ancestors before him. I know I’m
next. This is my destiny, and I was ready to yield.
But
then I met Nate. He awakened a sensuality in me that had never been explored,
never satisfied. I knew then I could no longer accept my destiny. Nate’s
presence controls me. I’m overwhelmed by his touch, his words; my every thought
is consumed by desire. I believe he was brought into my life for a reason.
Nate
doesn’t believe in destiny.
But
I do.
And
if there’s a way to cheat it—I must.
THE 27 CLUB
Kim
Karr
New
American Library
Coffee Beans Part II
Time to get
down to business.
I stomp out of the bedroom and down the stairs. The TV is on
and I can hear the weatherman announcing the same info the driver relayed to
me. “Tropical Storm Angela seemingly having stalled out once it passed over
Cuba is picking up wind speed as it makes its way toward the Florida Keys.”
The rain is still beating down, but there are no calls for
evacuations so I can only assume I am fine staying here.
Determined to get this conversation over with, I’m stopped
dead in my own tracks. Nate is standing in front of a built-in coffee maker,
waving his hand frantically up and down cursing under his breath,
“Motherfucking piece of shit.”
“What happened? Did the Miele not do what you told her to
do?”
He turns.
I feel like I’m watching him in slow motion.
Without warning, the air crackles.
He’s momentarily taken aback, but then a look of amusement
crosses his face. “Zoey Flowers, you are . . .”
Words pop into my head—sexy, beautiful, hot as hell,
fuckable.
Where did those come from?
That grin lingers on his mouth. “Your brother’s sister,
without a fucking doubt.”
Tears prick my eyes. Not the words I hoped to hear, but so
much more meaningful.
His face contorts, the glow of amusement gone from his eyes,
shadowed by something darker. He sets two cups of coffee on the counter that
separates us. “Hey, I’m really not good at this stuff. I didn’t mean to make
you cry.”
I swipe the drops away. “No, really, it’s okay. I just miss
him. That’s all.”
Nate’s hands grip the counter and his head falls. “Yeah, me
too.”
Silence sweeps the vastness of the space, but strangely it’s
not uncomfortable.
His gaze lifts. “Zoey, it’s nice to finally meet you.”
I can’t help but be charmed. “It’s nice to finally meet you
too, Nate.”
He clears his throat and a bit of shyness seems to cross his
face.
I fear I might be staring, so I avert my gaze to look down
at the counter and it lands on the two cups. “Are those lattés?”
His head lifts at the same time mine does. The connection is
immediate—a jolt of electricity travels between us and I swear I see a little
smile—not a smirk, but an actual smile on his face.
The most adorable boyish grin.
My belly flutters and I can’t help but return the smile,
feeling a little shy myself.
“Yeah, well that’s what they’re supposed to be. I didn’t
know what you drank, but thought I’d try these.”
I move closer, close enough that my hipbones nudge the edge
of the counter. “Lucky for you, I’ll drink anything made with coffee beans.”
Then it hits me, that his hair is the color of the finest
imported coffee beans.
“Yeah, lucky for me,” he repeats.
Taking a seat on one of the barstools, I blow on the top of
the latté. The froth is not exactly froth-like, more like big soap bubbles or
maybe clumps of soured whipped cream.
“You’re a schoolteacher, right?” he asks.
“Something like that,” I say. “I’m employed by the
University of Rochester. You’re a landlord, right?”
His lips tip up a fraction. “Something like that.”
I laugh. “Just kidding. I know all about you—big successful
CEO of an up-and-coming development company, who buys unprofitable businesses,
turns them around, and then sells them.
Zach said you are very business savvy.”
This is true, but what I fail to mention is Zach told me so
much more about him.
He raises one brow in the sexiest way. “You’re going to make
me blush if you keep talking like that. But it sounds to me like you’re leaving
some crucial things out. I’m sure your brother must have given you some dirt on
me.”
How does he know Zach told me all about his inability to
commit, his obsession with work, and his need to always be in control? He never
spoke of him in a demeaning way though. No, rather Zach seemed to idolize this
man. The words integrity, hard working, and respectful always followed anything
that might have been construed as negative. Zach once mentioned that he thought
something must have happened that triggered Nate’s extreme behavior.
He could understand that.
Honestly, so could I.
“Z never could give a compliment without making sure to put
a little bite in it. My guess is he would have said something like this: “Big
shot asshole of some rising development
company.”
I shrug. He did have my brother pegged. “Maybe it did go
more like that.”
He smirks, and God help me. I have to look away.
I try to tuck my emotion aside by sipping on my latté. It
tastes more like water, but the coffee lover in me is distracted by the trouble
that’s watching me.
His eyes seem to darken as they follow the liquid into my
mouth and then down my throat.
His breath seemingly goes shallow as if he’s picturing my mouth
on something else.
My imagination must be in overdrive. I shake it off and
point to my cup. “Not bad.”
He takes a sip of his and practically spits it out. “Not
bad! It tastes like shit.”
I can feel my lips turning upward again. I swear I haven’t
smiled in so long that I snap and just let the laughter roll through me—my body
quaking, my hair bouncing like a lion’s mane.
Nate stares flabbergasted, and I can see his body tensing.
Once I’m finally able to speak, I manage to say, “Really, it
doesn’t taste terrible. You just have your timing and ratios off, that’s all.
Steam the milk a little longer, and add more beans.”
He sets his cup down and gives me a skeptical look.
“I used to work at a coffee shop when I was in college. I
can show you if you like?”
Our gazes lock.
When he doesn’t respond, reality crashes down around me. I
can’t let this become flirtatious.
I clear my throat. “Well, anyway, can we get back to why
you’re here in the middle of the night? You can be honest with me—have you been
staying here?”
A muscle twitches along Nate’s jaw, but he doesn’t answer
me. Instead, he picks up his cup and turns to the sink, dumps his full latté
down the drain, and then walks to the back of the house in the darkness.
My head twists so my eyes can track him.
He flicks a light switch on and twists his own head.
I know he must have caught my stare, and God knows what
possessed look I might have had on my face. I quickly turn back.
“Zoey, I think we need to talk.”
“I know we do. And Nate, it’s okay. Really. I don’t mind
that you’ve been staying here,” I reassure him as I turn back around.
He opens one of the many sliding glass doors and the sound
of the storm gets louder. “Come over here. I want to show you something.”
Something draws me toward him.
He’s a man of authority. I can tell he’s used to getting his
way, but I’m not usually one to submit to dominance. I’ve been around it enough
at work—male professors are the poster children for authoritative
personalities.
But still I move forward, approaching him with caution.
The sound of the waves crashing against the shore is
beautiful. With the door open the smell in the air is pungent in the most
delicious way, or maybe that’s Nate—clean, fresh, manly.
Without realizing it, I’m standing right in front of him. I
get lost in the wind, the air, the sound—and him. I tilt my head back to look
at him. I’m tall, but he’s almost a head taller than I am—he must be six-two.
Something about his proximity makes my body feel possessed.
It’s nothing like I’ve felt before.
He steps out the door and onto a covered deck, scrubbing his
stubbled jaw. “I told you I’m shit at this kind of stuff so I’m just going to
get this over with.”
Relief takes over.
Here it comes.
Finally!
About the Author:
I live in Florida with my husband and
four kids. I've always had a love for reading books and writing. Being an
English major in college, I wanted to teach at the college level but that was
not to be. I went on to receive an MBA and became a project manager until
quitting to raise my family. I currently work part-time with my husband and
full-time embracing one of my biggest passions—writing.
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