Feeding the Flames

CHAPTER ONE

Though some of the patrons of Twisted Tabby’s Diner thought Elvis or Buddy Holly should be crooning from the radio to match the fifties-style décor instead of the anachronistic Avenged Sevenfold currently playing, Zac Buchanan didn’t mind. It was completely due to the sexy little dance being performed by the diner’s owner.

Damn, when had little Tabatha Morgan grown up from a tomboy to a sexy, vivacious woman with curves in all the right places? The overhead lights glistened off the fancy hairdo she wore to match the diner’s style. The buttons of her white blouse strained to cover her full breasts when she leaned over the rack of cupcakes she was icing while grooving out to the music. It seemed like just last week she’d been tagging along after them, climbing trees, zooming across the countryside on ATVs.

Now look at her. From the saucy light in her eyes to the lush lips painted in a shade of fire-engine red lipstick, talk about smokin’ hot. And he suspected sensual too. Though maybe it was just the way she was squeezing the icing bag. Man, he bet she could give one helluva good hand job.

Tabatha glanced up—right at him, as if he was the only person in the diner—and a long string of icing spurted from the bag. A saucy smile on her face, she dipped a finger in the sugary confection that now coated the counter and swirled it. Lifted it to her mouth and, sweet Mother Mary, licked it in one long swipe. What would it be like to have that luscious tongue licking up the side of his cock, swirling over the tip? He bet she’d be just as sweet as that frosting.

Shit, now he couldn’t get the image of her wearing only that sexy little pink retro apron she’d worn yesterday and a smile out of his head. Especially since he also pictured her legs wrapped around his waist as he buried himself within her warmth.

He groaned and adjusted the fabric over the semi- rapidly turning to a full-on erection. This was Tabby. The kid who had helped her mother cater his parents’ parties. Who over the years had become a friend. A good friend.

That wasn’t even mentioning her cooking, no pun intended. No one could claim the heading on the menu, proclaiming her five-alarm chili the best in the neighboring counties, was a lie.

And, more importantly, she was his best friend’s secret fantasy.

So he definitely should not be having carnal thoughts about her.

The bell over the door rang. Shane Parker, the owner of a spread down the road from his, escorted his aunt to the corner booth at the front. Zac twisted in the booth to appreciate the red and white polka dot skirt with its layers of crinolines swayed with each swing of Tabatha’s hips as she hurried to take menus to the new customers.

When he shifted back to face Quinn, he found Quinn’s gaze also locked on Tabatha. Shit. Guess Quinn’s sister Val had been right about him wanting to ask Tabby out.

If she’d been anyone else, if Quinn had been anyone other than his best friend, Zac wouldn’t have promised Val he’d give Quinn space to approach Tabatha first and wouldn’t even have considered what he was about to do. But it was Quinn, and it was Tabby. And they deserved nothing less than his friendship, his love and respect.

Cursing the promise, he leaned forward and lowered his voice. You know what? You should ask her out.

What the fuck? You’ve been lusting after her since she moved back to town. Yet now you’re trying to set her up with me instead of asking her out yourself? What the ever lovin’ fuck’s going on with you?

I saw how you looked at her, Q.

Before he could say anything more, Tabatha appeared at their table, coffeepot in hand. Anything else I can get you two? Zac?

Tendrils of her thick, dark hair had escaped and curled around her ears. Up close her lips glistened in the overhead lights, begging to be kissed.

Zac? she repeated.

She’d probably dump the entire pot in his lap if she realized he was imagining her lips beneath his. Or around his cock.

Zac! Do you want more coffee?

Crap, he pulled himself out of his daydream and shook his head. Nah, Thanks, Tab. I’ve had my limit of caffeine for the day.

What is with you today? You’re acting like you need more caffeine, not less. Her lips pursed, she turned to Quinn. How about you? Do you need a fill-up?

Thanks, doll, but I’m good. The idiot across from him pulled out his phone. Probably checking his email.

Look up from the damned phone and ask her out, doofus.

The bell jangled, announcing another customer, yet Tabatha didn’t move. How about a cinnamon bun? They’re fresh out of the oven.

Zac was torn between hope and relief when Quinn replaced his phone in its holster. Until he slid out from the booth with a mumbled, No thanks. I gotta hit the head and get going. I just need the ticket.

Damn it, Q. Why can’t you see what’s right there in front of you? As Quinn disappeared down the back corridor, the light dimmed in both Tabatha’s smile and her hazel eyes. Is it something I said? Or are you two havin’ a spat? She made this clicking sound of disgust that all women seemed to learn at their mother’s knee. Oh, let me guess, you bet him on last night’s Alabama-Ole Miss game and you won, didn’t you?

Hey! I picked Ole Miss because Alabama always wins. It was supposed to be a sure thing. Instead Ole Miss had walked all over the Crimson Tide in the fourth quarter. But who could have predicted that interception?

She placed the coffeepot on the table, and then folded her arms across her chest. The movement pressed her breasts together. He closed his mouth at the creamy bounty threatening to spill over the edge of the fabric. How much d’you take him for?

Only ten bucks, but it’s not the game that’s bugging him.

No? Then what else did ya do?

Wanted the same woman as his best friend? That usually created tension between two guys. Usual crap. You know me.

Whatever you did, apologize. It’s not that hard to do. A hint of cinnamon wafted from her as she picked up the coffeepot again and repositioned it over his cup. Are you sure you don’t want me to top you off?

Huh, she didn’t normally serve those fancy coffees. Ah, right, the cinnamon buns she’d been making.

Nah, I’m good. Actually he was an asshole. Both to her, and to Quinn. But there was a way he could make his amends. It meant being sneaky and probably ticking Quinn—and Tabatha—off even more. Listen, can you get Shannon to close for you Saturday?

Though Twisted Tabby’s had only been open six weeks, it had drawn crowds from the very first day. So many that she’d quickly had to hire extra staff but, of them all, her best friend Shannon Collins was also the only person Tabatha trusted to close up.

She frowned but, from the way she’d zeroed in on him, he had her total attention. Probably, why?

Zac took a deep breath. Shit, this was so not how he’d pictured asking her out on a date. He removed the concert tickets from his breast pocket and held them up. I bought these tickets to the Dirt Road Graduates couple weeks ago. I just found out I have to drive my momma into Dallas for a meeting. I was thinking maybe you could ask Quinn to go with you.

Liar, liar, pants on fire. He’d bought the tickets yesterday when he’d caught her dancing to one of DRG’s songs and had fully intended to ask her out himself. Until he’d caught Quinn ogling her and remembered that fucking promise.

She cock her head to the side and planted a fist on her hip. "You want me to ask Quinn? Like out on a date?"

I guess you can call it whatever you want. Look, the thing is, he’s wanted to take you himself but he’s a bit cash strapped. You know how he gets about me paying his way. That his family had money and Quinn’s hadn’t sometimes had been a real pain in the ass to Quinn’s ego. But Zac couldn’t fault the man for having some pride. This way we can make it look like he’s doin’ you a favor.

"Quinn wanted to ask me out." Doubt filled her voice.

Jesus, what was so difficult to understand about the concept?