Fractured Things - Samantha Lovelock Page 0,12

you know! Can’t you leave a guy with a raging fucking hard-on in peace for two minutes?” He yells through the door. That just makes us laugh harder, but I drag Sunday out into the main kitchen area where she throws her arms around me and squeezes tight.

“I missed you, Stell.” Hugging her back just as tightly, I revel in feeling almost like a fully functioning human again.

“I missed me, too, Sun.”

Sally gets the five of us set up in the red vinyl booth with juice, French toast, and the magic coffee that Sunday was begging for earlier.

“For reals, Stella tried to poison me with her version of coffee this morning. She needs lessons, Sally. Stat. Pronto. I’ll pay you to teach her, anything you want!” Laughing, the diner owner waves her desperate plea away and moves to take care of the other customers starting to fill the diner. “Friends don’t let friends drink things that taste that awful!” Sunday yells over our heads to Sally’s retreating back.

Sandwiched cozily between Payne and Sunday, I relish the return of my appetite and plow through my breakfast with enthusiasm while enjoying the sight of the two handsome men across the table from me. There is nothing of Eunice Halliday visible in Poe; he is most definitely his father’s son. They share the same smoldering deep blue eyes, high cheekbones, strong jawline, and the single dimple that appears when they laugh. Or whenever they think it might come in handy.

Those dimples have been many a female’s undoing, I’m sure.

The only real things that set them apart are their height, with Holt having a good two inches on his son’s already impressive six-foot-two frame, and their hair. While Poe’s is still a deep rich espresso, the elder Halliday’s has silvered in the sides and back.

Poe catches me studying them, and in my haste to look like I’m doing anything but that, I grab my juice. Unfortunately, I swallow half of it so awkwardly, it causes me to have a brief but painful coughing fit. He arches an eyebrow and shoots me a devilish grin full of so much naughty promise it sets off a kaleidoscope of butterflies in my belly.

Holy shit, he’s hot. How the hell can somebody pack that much sexual innuendo into one facial expression?

Like she can sense my thoughts, Sunday finishes pounding on my back and leans over to rest her chin on my shoulder.

“Stell, get your mind out of Poe’s gutter, you bad girl.” Her stage whisper is, of course, anything but quiet, and Mr. Halliday discreetly tries to cover his laugh with his napkin while I turn at least seven shades of red.

“But I like it when her mind is in my gutter, Sun. It keeps me on my toes. Or on my knees, as the case may be.” Poe’s eyes flash wickedly, adding a few extra layers to my mortification. Unable to hold it in any longer, Poe’s father just shrugs his shoulders at me in a half-assed apology for his son and lets his booming laughter loose. Not one to be left out of the ‘embarrass the hell out of Stella’ fun, Payne decides to add his two cents.

“Oooooh, so she likes it when you go dow—“ I jab my elbow quickly into Payne’s ribs, effectively cutting off his comment and making him howl with laughter.

“Can we all just stop talking about gutters, please?” My demand comes out much too loudly, causing the other customers to turn to watch the zoo in our booth. Payne slides down in his seat, tears of mirth rolling down his cheeks, and Mr. Halliday laughs so hard there’s actually no sound coming out and he can barely catch his breath. After aiming a glare at my grinning best friend for starting this, she bats her eyelashes in feigned innocence, and I shake my head.

“You’re impossible,” I sigh, giving up.

“Of course, I am. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.” She blows me an air kiss before sticking an overloaded forkful of syrup-covered French toast in her mouth.

When everybody calms down, we manage to finish breakfast without embarrassing me any further, and I have to admit, being with them feels right. Comfortable. Once Sally clears the empty plates though, Mr. Halliday clears his throat in a commanding manner, and I know fun time is over.

“I’m sorry to spoil the mood, but I need to ask a question.” He looks pointedly at me. “Are you ready to come back to Folkestone?”

He doesn’t