As Skye approached the coffee shop, two black Hummers pulled up alongside the curb. The drivers jumped out and rushed around their respective vehicles to open the passenger doors. Five men spilled out, two from the lead vehicle and three from the rear, laughing and joking, shoving one another toward the entrance. Despite the frigid temperature, they wore nothing but T-shirts and beat-up blue jeans.

Two ladies with snow-white hair approached the shop as well. Unlike the men, the women were hunched in their heavy jackets with scarves wrapped tightly around their necks as they shivered against the cold. The men scampered around the women, yanked on the door, and filed inside. The last man, tall and slender, kept the door from slamming shut while the women ducked under his arm.

Skye hurried to catch the door and snagged her toe on the uneven sidewalk. The man steadied her, gripping her arm. He stared down, his eyes a piercing forest green.

“Well, hello, beautiful.” A cocksure smile brought a mischievous twinkle to those eyes.

Skye shrugged herself free. Spencer's betrayal was too fresh, and her emotions were too raw for her to engage in any sort of flirtation.

With an unfriendly glare, she said, “Thank you.”

Skye gripped her backpack and moved quickly over the threshold to the back of the line. The invigorating aroma of brewed coffee washed over her, and she breathed deep. The welcoming warmth dispelled her chill, and she shrugged off her backpack, unzipped her heavy coat, and draped it over her arm.

The men from the Hummers had taken over her favorite corner by the fire, filling the plush leather couches with their large frames as well as the one chair she generally claimed as her own. They sprawled out, like they owned the entire store, taking up more room than they needed, despite the morning rush.

The place was packed with a standing-room-only crowd. Couples and singles buried their noses in their cell phones and tablets. A few people worked on laptops. And, sprinkled here and there, the rare newspaper or book found itself clutched in the hands of a reader engrossed in the magic of the printed word.

Skye basked in the normalcy of the pleasant atmosphere and let her shoulders drop as she exhaled in a desperate effort to keep herself together.

She glanced at the clock hanging behind the barista station. If she got her cocoa and left immediately, she could take the early train. Her boss would appreciate her relieving him a few minutes early.

Boisterous laughter exploded from the corner by the fire. By their casual postures and open expressions the men were more than simply good friends. They teased one another in a nonstop barrage of verbal put-downs and animated conversation, acting like frat boys but appearing a few years older than the standard college crowd. The decibel level of that part of the room rose at least ten points.

They sported a variety of hairstyles from a close-cut buzz to rocker-style long hair. One with curly dark hair caught her staring and winked. She couldn’t see the one who had held the door.

The elderly women moved to the front of the line, and Skye shuffled behind them.

One of the women spoke, and her jowls wobbled with her shaky enunciation. “Frieda, can you see the menu? I don’t want any of that fancy stuff.”

Her friend obliged and read the drink choices out loud.

Skye waited for the women to navigate the menu, and her thoughts turned to Spencer's clenching ass while he pumped into the unknown woman sprawled on his bed, the same bed where he’d made love to Skye the night before. An upwelling of indignation surged forth, seeking an outlet, but she found none.

The barista called out a name, something Skye didn’t catch, and placed a cup on the counter. The man who’d held the door claimed the steaming beverage and returned to his friends as the two older women completed their order. They settled the bill after arguing over whose turn it was to pay.

Skye took a step forward as they moved off, still twittering about the bill.

The barista called out, “Bent, Bash, Spike, and Noodles,” and placed four cups on the counter.

Odd names. Maybe they were in a fraternity?

Skye ordered and paid for her cocoa with the remaining balance left on a gift card Spencer had given her six months ago on her birthday. She wasn’t sad to see the card go. She was eager to rid herself of all things Spencer. She stepped back to wait.

While the men lounged, the elderly women wobbled, bracing themselves against a counter behind one of the couches. The men propped their legs on the coffee tables, laughing and joking. Not one of them offered their seats.

Maybe it was the rock sitting in her pocket or the men’s rude behavior, but an acute hatred of all things male burst forth, finally finding that outlet. Skye rolled her shoulders and stiffened her spine. She marched to the corner, dropped her backpack on the floor, and slapped the closest asshole on the back of his head.

“Get up,” she said with more fury than intended. “Since when was it okay to run over old ladies and make them stand while you sit? Give up your damn seat!”

“What the fuck?” The tall one who’d held the door for her glanced up.

Skye jutted her chin forward and met the intensity of his gaze. Emerald green sparked and then shifted to follow her finger pointing toward the women. Frieda struggled to sip her coffee, fine tremors shaking her hand. Liquid sloshed over the rim, covering her hand and spilling onto the counter.

Skye poked his shoulder, a growl growing in her throat. “Get your sorry ass off the couch, and let them sit.”

The buff one with curly hair, who’d winked at her, gave an indignant snort. “Pretty girl, do you have any idea who you’re talking to?”

She put fists to her hips and lifted her chin. “Five men without a brain between them. Does it matter?” His mouth opened, but before he could speak, she held up a hand. “Seems to me you think being somebody is more important than good manners.”

She turned her attention back to the one who’d held the door. The tattoo on his neck, a web with a dragon, distracted her. She shook her head and refocused her anger. “Do you even realize your friends practically knocked down those poor ladies in their rush to get inside?”

A beefy man with piercings in his brows, nose, and lips shifted on the couch. “It’s fucking cold outside.”

“And you think those ladies were warm and toasty?” She lifted her jacket. “Newfangled invention, wiseass. It’s called a jacket. You’ll be surprised at the amazing warming properties it has.”

The green-eyed hunk snorted a laugh.

She pointed at each of the men in turn. “Did your mothers fail to teach you common courtesy? How would you feel if someone made your grandmother stand? Were you assholes raised by wolves?”

Green eyes huffed another laugh. He unfolded a lean body full of muscle to tower over her diminutive frame. He had the trim body of a swimmer with broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. He stood entirely too close for her comfort, but she held her ground, which forced her to look up into his handsome and somehow familiar face. Her pulse jumped, but she refused to be intimidated by his size.

“Wolves? Not exactly. My mother did, however, teach me that a true lady never swore.” He laughed, filling the air with a soft, velvety thrum.

Damn, what a voice. Male, deep. Nice. Really nice and layered with tonal qualities she’d never experienced before.

Her broken heart stirred in the strangest way, probably latching on to the wrong thing.

Her cheeks burned with the insult, and she readied herself to give him another piece of her mind. But, first, she had to meet the power of his impossibly green eyes. They barely looked real, but she’d peeled enough cosmetic contacts out of other people’s eyes to know a natural green when she saw it.

And, now, she was staring. She lowered her gaze to the tattoo covering the entirety of his neck—a spiderweb with a dragon perched in the center, clutching a blackbird in its claw.

She endured the full force of his intoxicating scent—woodsy spice mingled with the aroma of coffee—and paused to admire him. The man was a potent combination of sight, smell, and sound.

A smirk tilted the corner of his lips, and a twinkle danced in his eyes. The cocky bastard knew the effect he was having on her. His stance broadened, and he puffed out his chest. She took a step back and regrouped, clearing her throat, before pointing again to the women.

He lifted his chin at his friend with all the piercings. “Get up, Spike.”

“Damn it, Ash.” Spike sipped from his cup. “Just when I was getting cozy, too.” But the big man rose and stepped over to the opposite couch. He took a seat on the armrest.

Spike’s hard gaze latched on to Skye. She shifted her attention back to Ash and his stunning eyes.

Ash called out to Frieda and her friend, gesturing to the vacated seats, “Ladies, it has come to my attention that we have been exceedingly rude. Please, have a seat.” His mouth twitched into a smile as he glanced at Skye. Taking the women’s cups, he stepped out of the way while they settled themselves.

The barista called out Skye’s name and set her hot cocoa on the counter. What a perfect opportunity to make an exit. Skye collected her drink and left the coffee shop in a daze. Although trained in defense, she hated altercations, yet she’d faced down five strangers because Spencer had stirred her anger.

An icy gust beat at her as she headed to the Metro. A few blocks later, stairs led down into the subway and welcomed the morning commuters. She clutched her drink as she hurried down the steps to merge into the crowd.

Something felt off, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. She patted her scrubs and felt the diamond safe in her pocket. Her lanyard with her badge swung around her neck. She tucked it back inside her heavy coat, but she sensed she had forgotten something. It was probably just her nerves.

Someone behind her called out, “Miss!”

Skye pivoted, surprised to see Ash jogging in her direction. His white T-shirt was pulled taut across the muscles of his chest.

What was he doing? Whatever it was, she wasn’t in the mood to engage in a conversation with the arrogant bastard.

Turning back, she ignored him and followed the flow of the crowd.

“Hey!” His voice resonated down the escalator.

She glanced over her shoulder and saw he’d quickened his stride.

“What the fuck?” Annoyance salted the deep timbre of his voice, so like an arrogant prick.

Very much like Spencer.

“Come back here,” he called out.

His feet pounded atop the concrete floor, and Skye did what she always did when a man confronted her.

She ran.