Bump & Grind: A Brewed Moon Novel
By: J. Margot Critch
Copyright © 2016 by J. Margot Critch
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Please don’t pirate this book. Pirates are gross.
Cover Design by J. Margot Critch
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Magnum & Steins, located in St. John’s, Newfoundland, is used with permission from the owner.
Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Dedication
As always, to Brian. None of this could have ever happened without you. Thank you for being my inspiration, editor, and sounding board. You are, and will always be, my fierce, loyal, alpha-protector with beautiful hands.
And, to my café ladies: Catherine, Katie, Ashley and Brittany. You guys will always make me laugh. Thank you for being my biggest fans and for keeping me sane. Let’s all go to Don’s for beer and Mexican Dip!
And, to all of the crushtomers out there, brightening our days, 90 seconds at a time.
Chapter 1
The sun poured in through the large front windows of Brewed Moon Café, and heated the interior of the store. The early morning St. John’s fog had lifted and from her place behind the counter, Erica Hardin could see the blue surface of the ocean. There was a light breeze in the air and she watched the whitecaps of the water as it lapped against the rocks lining the harbour and the sides of the fishing vessels returning to port with their morning catch.
This hour of the morning belonged to her and the fishermen. It was early, and most people were still snug in their beds, not already at work just finishing up their third cup of coffee. Erica went about her opening activities: grinding coffee, stocking supplies and checking the equipment before she opened the store. She thought about her own bed, soft and warm, and she yawned. Three cups of coffee don’t seem to cut it some mornings, she surmised.
Thirty minutes later, she turned over the open sign and unlocked the doors. The city was just starting to come alive, and Erica stood by the front windows and she watched as the first morning people outside hustled about. She had a feeling that it would be a busy day for Brewed Moon, as it was any day that the weather was amenable. The people of St. John’s took advantage of the rare moments of sunshine they could get, and they were quick to get their butts outside in the warmth – not before stopping for coffee first, though. Erica sighed, wishing that she could join them outside, but alas, she was stuck behind the café counter, inside looking out.
Having completed most of her work, Erica put her forearms on the counter, and leaned over it, and waited for the rush of early-morning customers. Brewed Moon’s clientele ranged from smartly-dressed business people, to artists, students, fishermen, construction workers, and so on, and so on; a microcosm which reflected the diversity of the small university city itself.
Sometimes they could be difficult, but Erica loved dealing with the customers. She loved getting to know them. Even after their coffee was poured and they were out the door, Erica wondered about people’s lives. Their likes. Their dislikes. Their passions. Their dreams. Whether or not they were happy. Were they fulfilling their purpose? Because of her place behind a coffee counter, she was granted a small window into the lives of strangers, which showed her how they preferred their coffee, and she often inferred and made assumptions based on their selections. It was uncanny how much one could tell about a person from whether they decided on a coffee, tea, latte or espresso. There were also the people who asked for frozen-blended-sugar-coffee nonsense. Erica didn’t infer anything about them. She knew everything she needed to about those people.
Erica stood as two young men entered the cafe, the packs on their back straining, and their smiles broad. They approached the counter and asked her for two large coffees, and the directions to the airport.
She told them the quickest way to get there, and asked them a question of her own. “Where are you guys headed?”
“South America. We’re spending the next two months backpacking,” one answered and the other high-fived him. First stop, coffee, the next is Chile.”
Erica’s mouth dropped open in pure envy. “That’s amazing. I’m so jealous,” she said, wanting nothing more than to drop everything and just go with them. That was all Erica wanted. Adventure. Excitement. She wanted to live. Those guys were living. Why shouldn’t she? They left the counter and walked out the door, ready to embark on new experiences. While she, in turn, went back to the counter to serve the next customer in line.
She had to stop herself, mid-frown when she saw who it was. A regular. An Irish man who was always curt, rude even. Though he never actually did anything to make her uncomfortable there was just something about him that gave Erica the creeps. This time he was with another man; one with whom he shared similar features. He must have been Mr. Creep’s brother. She plastered on a smile, only because it was her job. “Hi there, what can I get for you?” she asked the two of them as they approached the register.
“Two cappuccinos,” the regular answered in a thick Irish accent. She nodded. “Sure thing.” She moved further down the counter to the espresso machine where she made the cappuccinos under the watchful, almost menacing eye of the Irish man. Every time she looked up, he was watching her. She tried to brush away the unease, and continue about her work, but she could feel his gaze on her, and she didn’t like it. When she was finished, she brought the mugs to the register and rang up the order, glad to be that much closer to ending their interaction.
“That’ll be $9.70, please,” she told him.
He pulled out his wallet and took out a ten-dollar-bill, which he passed to her. When she returned the thirty cents which was the remainder of his change, he bypassed the tip cup sporting the cheeky slogan and pocketed the coins.
The men turned to find a table, and they selected one near the front window. She frowned at them. Strange men. She saw lots of funny characters in the café. But there was something about them that just seemed ominous. Their presence and the way that they’d watched her made her uneasy. But when another regular customer, this one a kind woman, approached the counter, she forgot all about the men, and returned to her work.
She did love her job at Brewed Moon. She’d been there since its beginning when Juliana, one of her best friends, opened the café three years ago. At the café, Erica had the opportunity to work with her best friends - Juliana and Azura, and she was also lucky that her work schedule was flexible, so she could teach a burlesque class twice a week, and attend her own regular practices, and perform at shows.
But some days, some days, Erica cr
aved doing more with her life. Like the effectiveness of caffeine on her system, her adventurous spirit was waning, draining, and she needed to get it back. She didn’t know exactly when it happened, or what had caused it, but gone was the girl who had backpacked solo through Europe, hitchhiking, meeting strangers and making new friends. It had been years since she had found the time to go rock climbing or white-water rafting. There was no denying it. Erica was in a definite funk.
The opening door once again caught her attention, and the overhead bell shook her from her musings. Erica turned her gaze to the man who had pulled it open. She had never seen him in the cafe before... and she would have definitely remembered him if she had. Her eyes widened as she watched him. He was kind of rough in his appearance. He was an obvious bad boy. Some men might try to copy his look, to adopt an air of indifference or danger, and it would fall flat. But this guy. This guy, she could tell he was the real deal.
Her eyes travelled up and down his lean, muscular body. His jeans were perfectly faded, and he wore them with ease, paired with the softest-looking leather jacket she'd ever seen. He was a man quite comfortable with himself. He exuded confidence, as he strode with his long legs on a mission, a mission for caffeine, toward the counter. The bottom of his face was covered with a thick layer of stubble, telling her that he had missed a couple of days shaving. But when he removed his dark Ray-Bans, and hung them by the arm in the dip of his V-neck t-shirt, it was his steel-blue eyes that got her attention. Those eyes all but promised danger. Her mouth went dry, and she wished that the iced red eye she’d made for herself was nearby, so she could quench her thirst.
To stop her fidgeting hands, she tightened the small bandana she had tied at the top of her head to secure her long, red wavy hair. "Hi,” she smiled; surprised at herself that she was able to form any words at all around the huge lump in her throat. “What can I get for you?" She would, in fact, give him anything he wanted. It had been too long since she’d had such a visceral reaction to a man, and it frightened her and caught her off guard.
Those blue, perilous eyes, stared into hers. "Four large coffees, please."
Erica was somehow, so absolutely turned on by everything about the man that she couldn’t stop herself from trembling at the deep, smooth timbre of his voice. "You got it,” she said with a shaky smile. Taking a deep breath, Erica stepped back and tried to regain control of herself. But to do that, she had to focus on something other than the god-on-earth standing in front of her.
She pointed to the furthest coffee pot of the four offerings. “Do you want to try the dark roast? It's from Sumatra." Erica paused, and with a sly grin, she looked at him. “It’s delicious. It’s got a great body.” Satisfied that she had gained the upper hand in their game, Erica smiled. Alright then. I’m back. She had been known to bring men to their knees with a raised eyebrow and a purse of her lips. Back in the game.
But with one beautiful, breath-stealing smile, he ripped all control away from her. Her upper hand had been a bust, and he was clearly carrying a full house. So he smiled, his brilliant white teeth shining against the dark beginnings of his beard, cool eyes alighting with amusement. “I’m sure it does. I know a great body when I see one. Or taste it,” he added with a wink. His eyes travelled noticeably up and down her figure and a delighted thrill coursed through her veins.
Erica’s lips parted. She had no response to that, and the silence went on too long. She was mortified, and he seemed to enjoy making her squirm. It finally dawned on her that he’d ordered coffee. Right. She had work to do. Without another word, and kind of annoyed at how easily he made her forget how to function, Erica poured his coffees in silence and passed them out. When he reached for his wallet, she shook her head and several loose, red tendrils of hair whipped about her face. “Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house today.” And she put the last two cups on the counter.
“Really?” he asked, skeptical look on his face.
“Trust me. New customer discount,” she pursed her lips. If she couldn’t make him fall in love with her for her wit, she might as well give him a couple of freebies.
“Fair enough.” He glanced down at the tip cup, on which Erica had earlier written ‘Just put the tip in, see how it feels…’ and he chuckled. “That’s pretty good.”
"Thanks,” she leaned in, knowing that it would give him a great view of her cleavage, and he took full advantage. Take that, buddy!
“My boss hated it," she whispered, conspiratorially.
The man shook his head and reached into his wallet anyway. He pulled out a bill and put it in the bowl. She looked down and saw that it was a twenty.
“That isn’t necessary,” she told him, reaching for it, to give it back.
“Don’t argue,” he told her, his voice forceful, putting his hand on hers. She trembled pleasantly at his touch, but straightened in obedience at his dark tone. Taking his tray and the coffees, he headed to the condiment stand, where they kept the milk, sugar and all other coffee accoutrements. She was regretful that he’d walked away, but thankfully, it gave her a good chance to clear her head, and also the opportunity to check out his round backside in those jeans.
“Thanks for the coffee,” he said, looking over his shoulder, while he waited for his turn at the stand. He smiled and winked at her; he’d caught her checking him out.
“No problem,” she said, feeling her colour rise. Then she smirked. “Come again soon."
He once again looked over his shoulder and smiled at her. "I'm pretty certain I will." He then turned back to the condiment stand, awaiting his turn to help himself to the lids, sleeves or anything else he needed before leaving with his coffees.
When he was out-of-earshot, Juliana, one of Erica’s two favorite people, boss, and woman who had hated the sign on the tip cup, walked up to Erica, her lips pressed together in a straight line. “Did you just give away more coffee?” she whispered, eyebrow raised.
Erica sighed. “Yes, but Jules, do you see him?” she whispered in return, gesturing at the man near the stand. “People as good-looking as him should never have to pay for coffee. Remember that ruled that Azura and I came up with? Coffees for Hotties - Hot Coffees for Hot Bodies? It’s like a hottie expense that businesses just have to accept and move on.”
Juliana laughed and playfully shoved Erica’s shoulder. “It’s too bad my accountant doesn’t let me claim Coffees for Hotties as a deductible on my income tax,” she smiled at Erica, indulgently. “It’s a good thing I love you, because you are the worst employee I’ve ever had.”
Erica thought about that, with a smile. “I don’t know if you’ve forgotten that I’m only one of two employees you’ve ever had. And the other one is Azura, and she’s way worse than I am.”
Juliana laughed at the mention of their all-too-flighty friend.
“And if you really want to, you can take the cost of the coffee out of the tip he left.” Erica pointed to the twenty-dollar-bill that lay at the top of the cup.
Juliana looked in the tip cup, eyes raised at the twenty that sat on top. “Nice,” she remarked, and turned back to Erica. “You know that I don’t mind you two passing out some freebies to customers. Just don’t let me go broke, okay? This place is just starting to turn a profit.”
“You can trust me, Jules,” Erica assured her, raising her fingers in what was probably an incorrect girl scout’s salute, before she turned her attention back to Mr. Impossibly-Good-Looking and watched the man prepare his coffees.
Peter passed over the cream and sugar, and only selected plastic lids. He pressed the plastic over the tops of each of the four coffee cups, and he heard the women behind him at the counter, whispering. Something about ‘Coffees for Hotties’ and ‘accounting’? He shook his head, smiling, thinking about the gorgeous creature behind the counter. If Coffees for Hotties was a rule at Brewed Moon, she would definitely qualify. He always did like redheads, especially when she had a body she couldn’t even attempt to hide behind that apron.
And when she’d leaned over the counter, to give him a good look down her shirt, his mouth almost dropped open wide. He smirked. She knew exactly what she was doing. Saucy woman. In his imagination, he pictured himself standing behind her and bending her over the counter himself. His cock stirred in his jeans, when his blood surged south and he imagined pushing her skirt over her hips, revealing her lush behind, which, in his dream, wouldn’t be concealed behind panties.
Peter heard a throat clear behind him, and turned to see a woman standing nearby, holding her own coffee cup. He realized that he had been standing in the way of the other coffee-drinkers, looking to fix their drinks. He was curious how long he had been taken away by fantasies of taking the barista over the counter behind him. Probably a while, if the bulge that his jeans barely concealed was any indication.
“Sorry,” he muttered to the woman, and he moved quickly out of the way. He brought a cup to his mouth, and the coffee flowed past his lips and hit his tongue in all the right places. It was delicious. Would it be too Agent Dale Cooper of me to turn around and tell her it was ‘damn fine coffee?’ He took another sip, glad that he went with her recommendation. It probably would, he decided as he put the cups into the tray she had given him, and headed towards the door.
He was almost outside, and he turned his head back at the beautiful redheaded barista, to get one last look at her. He intended to give only the most subtle of backwards glances, but he was surprised when it was the two men sitting near the front window that ended up catching his attention instead. Before he had even heard their thick Irish brogue, something about the men at the table plucked at his gut. He couldn’t shake it off. Something didn’t feel right and he was trained to never ignore his intuition. Inconspicuously, Peter put the coffees he was holding on a nearby table, and rifled through his pockets, as if he was looking for his keys. He put on his sunglasses and observed the pair from the corner of his eye. It didn’t take him long before he recognized them as Dylan and Colin O’Connell. Just sitting at the table, talking and laughing, like they hadn’t a care in the world, not giving any indication that they knew who Peter was, or that they had even realized he was there.
Bump & Grind (Brewed Moon Book 1) Page 1
