Nash (Daddies of Justice #3)

Chapter 3

Nash

T he bell jangled as Nash pushed open the door to the coffee shop. Warm air and the rich aroma of roasted beans enveloped him. He strode up to the counter, eyes scanning the chalkboard menu.

"What can I get for ya, hon?" the barista asked with a smile.

"Large Americano to go. No milk. And don’t burn it."

The barista quirked an eyebrow at him, but made his coffee all the same.

Not everybody liked Nash’s way of talking. It wasn’t like he meant to be cruel or talk down to people. He just preferred to be direct. To make sure he had control over every situation, so there were no nasty surprises. In short, he liked everything to work out just as he wanted it to.

As the barista rang up his order, Nash's gaze wandered around the cozy shop. Patrons hunched over laptops or chatted at tables. This was his first time visiting this particular neighborhood in years, and it had definitely changed a lot. Unlike some other parts of the city.

But suddenly, as his eyes scanned the room, he froze. His eyes landed on a familiar blonde ponytail.

Rosie.

She sat at a high-top table in the corner, sipping a green juice. A sheen of sweat glistened on her toned shoulders and collarbone, exposed by a skimpy sports bra. Yoga pants hugged her curves. Damn, she looked good. Really good.

Rosie glanced up, catching his stare. Her eyes widened.

Nash felt his neck flush as he gave an awkward wave. What were the chances of running into her here of all places?

"One large Americano," the barista announced, sliding the cup across the counter. “Black, and not even the tiniest bit burnt.”

Nash thanked her, stuffing a few bills in the tip jar before ambling over to Rosie's table.

"Fancy meeting you here," she said, arching a brow. Her British lilt made the endearment sound somehow cheeky and seductive at once.

"Small world," he replied. "Didn't expect to see you in this neck of the woods."

Rosie sipped on her green juice. "This is my workout spot. I go to the studio across the road."

Nash nodded, trying not to stare at a drop of sweat tracing its way from her neck down to her cleavage. Jesus. “Uh, what sort of workouts do you do?” God, did he really just ask that? What a goofball.

Rosie gave him a big grin. “Brazilian jujitsu.”

“You serious?”

Rosie beamed, her eyes lighting up with an inner fire that drew Nash's gaze like a moth to a flame. "Yeah, been at it for a while now. It's great for self-defense."

He couldn't deny the subtle flex of her muscles, the confidence that exuded from her every move. She was a force to be reckoned with, and the fact that she kept this part of her life from him stung more than he cared to admit.

For Nash, who prided himself on knowing every detail, every secret of those around him, discovering this hidden aspect of Rosie left him reeling. Why hadn't she shared this before? Was there more to her that he had yet to uncover?

“You do jujitsu?” he said, shaking his head. “Why have you never told me this?”

Careful, Nash. You’re starting to sound like borderline obsessive.

Rosie shrugged a glistening shoulder. “I guess you never asked.”

Nash blinked at her. Was there reproach in the way that she said that? “So, uh, does . . . does, uh, what was his name again, does Max go to jujitsu classes as well? Wait. Don’t tell me. Is he the teacher?”

Rosie giggled and blushed.

Jesus. Even thinking about Max makes her blush.

“No," she said. "He definitely doesn’t teach the classes. He’s too cuddly for that.”

“Too cuddly. Right.” Nash’s jaw was clenched so tight it felt like his throat was constricting.

Rosie bit her lip, her brow furrowed, and a troubled look came into her eyes. “Listen, Nash, I—”

“No,” he stopped her. “I don’t want to make this awkward. You know I want you to be happy, Rosie. What happened between us in the past . . . well, we both know it was a mistake.” Damn, it was hard talking about all this. This was the first time Nash had ever run into Rosie outside of The Den. At work, it was easy to maintain the professional boundaries he’d worked so hard to put up. Here, seeing Rosie in the daylight, lit up like an angel, it was hard to work out what to say to her. Was dredging up the past a good idea? Did it help him move on? Probably not. But it seemed like the right thing to do.

“A mistake,” she echoed flatly. “Yeah. I agree.”

“You’re free to date whoever you like,” Nash continued, “and I wish you and Max all the very best.”

Rosie sniffed. “Thank you.”

Nash's eyes traced the lines of Rosie's toned arms, the swell of her breasts beneath the sweat-dampened sports bra. She looked like a goddamn warrior princess, all lean muscle and dangerous curves.

He dragged his gaze up to meet hers, unapologetic. "Max is a lucky guy, Rosie. Just make sure he treats you right.”

The air between them crackled, heavy with unspoken tension. Nash's fingers itched to reach out, to touch, to claim. But she belonged to someone else now. He curled them into fists at his side.

"Listen, I gotta jet,” he said. “Class starts soon."

“You’re taking a class?”

“Teaching one. You know Tina? She has a contact who works at the studio. Said they were looking for a last-minute instructor. And you know how I feel about self-defense.”

“It’s a necessary life skill?” guessed Rosie.

“Exactly. I’d suggest you came along, but it seems you’re tough enough these days.”

She smiled. “I guess I am. Anyway, I have things to do. A girl like me has a lot going on, you know. People to see, places to be.”

“Yeah. Right. So. I guess I’ll see you around, Rosie,” he said. “Nice bumping into you here.”

Rosie nodded. “You too, Nash. I’ll, uh, I’ll walk out with you.”

She got up to leave, but she jumped off her stool in such a hurry that her half-finished cup of juice collided with his rock- hard chest, leaving a trail of radioactive-looking green slime in its wake.

Rosie gaped in horror. "Oh my god, Nash, I'm so sorry!" She grabbed a wad of napkins, dabbing ineffectually at his soaked shirt.

He caught her wrist. "It's fine, Rosie. Just an accident."

For a moment they froze, eyes locked, pulses pounding in sync.

Then Rosie snatched her hand away, a guilty flush staining her cheeks. "I really am sorry. Let me buy you a coffee to make up for it?"

"No," he said firmly. "I've got a class to teach, remember?”

“Well, another time. I’ll take you to any coffee shop you like.”

“No!” he said, his pulse racing. The thought of sitting in a coffee shop with Rosie, the two of them together, almost like a date . . . it was way too risky. “It’s not a good idea. You’ve got a boyfriend, Rosie. We don’t want him to get jealous."

"Right. Of course. Max." She hesitated, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. "Well . . . I guess I'll see you around then."

"Yeah. See you around. Don’t worry about pouring radioactive waste all over me. Worse things have happened."

“It’s only kiwi and kale,” she said quietly. “Hopefully it’ll wash out.”

“Yeah, hopefully,” he said without smiling.

He watched her go, a bittersweet ache in his chest. One step forward, two steps back. The story of his goddamn life.

With a sigh, Nash grabbed some paper towels and mopped the worst of the mess from his clothes. At least his day couldn't possibly get any more frustrating.

Nash strode out of the coffee shop, irritation simmering under his skin. He glanced down at his stained shirt and muttered, "Great. Now I look like I got puked on by the Incredible Hulk."

The green sludge clung to his chest, a mocking reminder of how much he’d fucked up that interaction. He couldn't seem to do anything right when it came to Rosie. Every time they met, he ended up saying or doing something that made him look like a complete asshole.

Like just now, when he'd snapped at her for the spilled drink. It was just an accident. But instead of being understanding, he'd let his jealousy over this mystery boyfriend get the better of him.

Again.

"Smooth move, dumbass," he growled under his breath. "No wonder she's not interested."

He should have been kind to her. Made a joke to lighten the mood. Should have done anything other than make her feel bad for it.

But no. He'd let his temper get the best of him, as usual. And now Rosie probably thought he was an even bigger jerk than before.

Fantastic.

Nash ran a hand through his hair, frustration and self-loathing churning in his gut. He needed to get his head on straight before he taught this class. Needed to focus on something other than the curve of Rosie's lips or the way her body had felt pressed against his, their bodies wet with . . . juice . . .

But even as he tried to push her from his thoughts, he knew it was a losing battle. Rosie Love had gotten under his skin, even more than usual, and no amount of denial or distraction could change that.

He was well and truly screwed.