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Colton didn’t react immediately, but then his body jerked, looking down to his belt where there was a phone strapped.

He let out a weary sigh as he looked at the screen and lifted the phone to his ear.

“Yeah?” The lone syllable was overflowing with frustration.

After a pause, I heard the muffled conversation of whoever was on the other line.

Colton’s shoulders tightened, his gaze fixed on me. “I’ll be right there.”

I let out a breath.

Saved by the bell.

“This isn’t over,” he declared, putting the phone back on his belt.

“Of course it isn’t.” I rolled my eyes. “I’m not that lucky.”

Colton’s nostrils flared, and he looked like he was going to say something else. But instead, he did the unthinkable—he grabbed on to me and yanked me into his arms for a hug.

A fucking hug.

I was so shocked I didn’t even try to fight it.

My arms were pinned to my sides by his impressive strength, smushing into his chest, assaulting me with more of that clean laundry smell mixed with … man.

Despite all my common sense screaming at me to do something, I relaxed into the hug.

Somewhat.

It lasted longer than a regular hug. Not that I was an expert on how long hugs lasted. I hadn’t hugged another person in … well, over a decade. Fuck, Colton might’ve been the last person I’d hugged, the last person to touch me with affection, not just male hunger.

Fortunately, he eventually let me go. Not completely, though. He held on to my neck, cupping my jaw with his large hand. His eyes explored my face, as if he were committing it to memory. His expression was no longer sober and hard. It was … softer. More familiar.

Something tugged in my chest region. And not my nipples hardening, which would at least make some kind of sense since an arguably handsome man was touching me. No, it was not a carnal reaction. It was an emotional one.

Bad.

Very bad.

Luckily, Colton fully let go of me, stepping back and clearing his throat loudly.

He looked to Dante as if he’d forgotten he was even standing there, his cold mask settling back into place. After giving Dante a pointed look, he walked out of the coffee shop.

And because my karma apparently sucked, I didn’t get a second of respite.

“Well, that was cozy.” Dante hooked his thumbs through his belt loops, his fingers dangling loosely. “Let me guess, captain of the football team?”

I pursed my lips, sending a foul glare in Dante’s direction before turning my back on him and stomping toward the counter.

“I want a coffee,” I demanded.

“Espresso, pour over, cold brew?” the tatted guy in front of me asked.

I gaped at him. Fucking hipsters. “Espresso. Four shots.”

He tapped the screen. “You want a latte?”

I arched my brow at him. “Do I look like I want a fucking latte?”