I see her before anyone else does. Because I’m watching.

Waiting.

Three of my guys are sitting at a table. Cook is behind the counter. And another is filling his plate.

But my hip is against the counter, and my eyes are aimed at the door.

She’s changed. Back to the outfit she wore yesterday. The one that had me staring at her from around corners like a fucking stalker.

Her face is flushed.

Her braids are smooth.

And I know the moment the guys spot her, too, because the room falls silent.

I straighten. “Guys, this is Court.”

Courtney’s eyes dart to mine.

I called her Court earlier as a way to keep distance between us. But also the idea of anyone other than me calling her by her full name… I don’t like it.

So they’ll call her Court too.

But when I’m alone. When I’m thinking about her. She’ll be my Courtney.

The pretty woman raises her hand in a shy wave. “Hello.”

“She’s the new Marty. She’s staying in the Laundry Cabin. And you’ll keep a civil tongue in your mouth when she’s around.” She scrunches her face at my last sentence.

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” she tries to argue.

“It’s necessary,” I say before pointing to the table. “That’s Glen, Simpson, and Leon.” I use my thumb to indicate the men near me. “Cook is behind the counter. And this kid is Fisher.”

I purposefully point out his young age.

He’s not mature enough for her.

She needs someone older.

“Nice to meet you,” the kid says, leaving his plate on the counter and walking over to shake her hand.

I’m tempted to trip him. But I don’t.

Because I’m mature. Unlike him.

Then Courtney smiles at Fisher, and I regret the not-tripping.

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