And now look how agitated she is.

She suspects I’ve seen something; it’s written all over her beautiful face.

I try not to snicker. “What was it you said you were working on?”

“What am I working on?” she parrots, her brows furrowed in confusion.

“Yeah, it looks like I interrupted something.”

Something smutty.

Tabitha bites her bottom lip and looks away guiltily. “Um. Work stuff, I guess.”

“What kind of work stuff?” This time I do snicker.

She closes the notebook in front of her with a scowl and crosses her arms defensively over her chest. “What’s with all the questions?”

“Just curious, that’s all.” I shoulder the weight of my laptop, laying it on the floor next to her table, and lean my elbow on the back of her chair.

I’m so close now I can smell the sweetness of her hair when she fidgets in her chair, kicking up the air around her.

A nervous giggle escapes her lips—her very nicely shaped, pink, pouty lips. Some people would call them glossy; I’m calling them juicy.

Juicy lips I want to suck on.

“Are you coming?” asks my lazy drawl.

“Excuse me?” Tabitha’s mouth gapes in an O of surprise and I suppress the urge to say, Speaking of coming, weren’t you just writing about that very same thing only moments ago?

But I don’t. Instead, I say, “Are you coming to my housewarming party?”

“I didn’t know you were having one.”

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

“Oh, really? Because I’m pretty sure Greyson told me she invited you. Personally.”

“She did?”

I study her, the large blue eyes lined in black, the clear, smooth skin flushed from frustration and embarrassment, and the full lips. Letting my gaze linger until she gets uncomfortable with my scrutiny, she finally breaks contact and turns her face towards the bank of windows on the far side of the coffee shop.

I give my chin a scratch. “Yeah. I’m pretty sure she said you were coming.”

Tabitha shakes her head in denial, her blonde ponytail swinging back and forth. “I never said that. I said I had to check my calendar.”

Gotcha.

“Ah, so she did invite you to come.”

“Please stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“You know what. Using the word...” Tabitha turns back to stare at me, her eyes bright but guarded. “Stop pushing. You’re pushing.”

“I’m not pushing.” I smile. “I just want you to come.”

Yeah. You bet your sweet ass I meant for that to sound dirty, and from the look on her face right now, she knows it.

She hesitates before responding, furrowing her brows and eyeing me from under her flirty cap before sliding her notebook off the table and stuffing it into her bag.

Tabitha lifts her laptop, unplugs the earbuds, winding them up along with the power cord, and rises. “I have to go.”

My eyes flick to the book on the floor, but morbid curiosity keeps me silent.

She grabs at her phone charger, stepping on it and stumbling when she yanks it up, trying to coil it around her hand. As she abandons tidiness, the black cord gets shoved haphazardly into her brown leather tote, and she shoulders it before grabbing an uncovered, steaming coffee off the table top.

It spills, wetting her hand and soaking the hem of her white shirt.

Her cheeks are beet red when she faces me, barely able to look me in the eye. “It was nice seeing you again.”

Tabitha turns, stalks away.

Doesn’t look back.

Doesn’t see me bend and snap the thick paperback novel up, discarded on the floor.

Doesn’t see the expression on my face when I flip it over and crack the cover, or the grin that spreads across my face.

I look up, watching her hurriedly retreating form through the glass, her ass in those ripped up jeans. Tabitha stops at the corner, glancing both ways before crossing to the other side of the street.

Within seconds, she’s out of sight.

Gone.

A few hours later, my solitary dinner plate washed and put away, I step into the kitchen to wipe down the cold granite countertop, pausing at the sink to rest my hip against the cabinet.

“The book,” as I’ve started calling it, rests on the kitchen table, cover-side up, the erotic silhouette of a naked couple in all their bare-assed glory for my viewing pleasure. I stride over, gaping down before gingerly lifting it, intently fixating on the suggestive embrace, the full-on kiss, the sweaty bare skin, and the sexy shot of side boob.

Overturning it to read the blurb on the back—studying it for the third time since jamming it into my laptop bag at Blooming Grounds and bringing it home—my eyebrows still shoot damn near into my hairline as I read:

On the Brink, a debut novel by TE Thomas.

Rachel Neumann is a virgin on the brink… on the brink of want, on the brink of curiosity, on the brink of her twenty-first birthday. Rachel wishes for one thing and one thing only: to be ruined. To lose it all in one night of passion… With seduction in mind, there’s only one person who can cure her aching body: Devon Parker. He’s the only person who has always stood by her, and he’s the one person who stirs all her lust-filled desires. Will friends become lovers, or will Rachel always be a virgin on the brink?

Whoa.

Holy shit.

I flip the book over to the front, and I scan the cover again before flicking it open to look inside. Bold, black handwriting and notations are scrawled across the first few title pages in pen:

Too pixelated. Must be 300 dpi, not 199. Change font.

There’s no doubt this has to be what she was working on at the coffee shop. I flip the book back over to stare at the author name on the cover:

TE Thomas

It’s quite conceivably the least creative pen name I’ve seen. And I’ve seen—okay fine, I’ve seen none.

But TE Thomas isn’t clever at all, especially if she’s trying to be covert about it. I mean, come on, TE Thomas? I might be going out on a wild limb here, but it’s safe to say her middle name is Elizabeth. If I was a betting man, I would win.

So, this is what she’s been hiding.

She’s an author.

I take the book into the living room and flop into an overstuffed leather chair, propping my feet up on the coffee table Greyson made me buy. Settling in for the long haul, I crack the novel open to the first chapter and read: Rachel Neumann was hot, sticky, and panting—and it wasn’t from the heat…

A grin crosses my face as I devour page after page.

Tabitha Thompson, you secretive little sneak.

I can feel Collin Keller surveilling me from across his living room, his scrutiny so penetrating that sweat begins to dampen my spine.

Great. Just what I need.

It’s not like I’ve never had attractive guys notice me before; I’ve dated my fair share of handsome men. In fact, my last boyfriend was a Minor League Baseball player on his way to the pros, and a total babe.

Hilarious. Smart.

Constantly surrounded by groupies…

Jared would have been perfect if it hadn’t been for those damn baseball groupies. No woman wants to listen to their date’s phone blow up the entire time they’re trying to eat dinner, and no woman wants to see their date’s lips tip into a knowing smirk every time he checks a text.