Read Online Unbound: (InterMix) by Cara McKenna - Free Book Online Page A

now.”
    He smiled.
    “And the thing is . . .” Her eyes narrowed as she made the discovery. “I bet they
     didn’t even
want
to be happy. I bet they just wanted an audience for their misery.”
    “Speaking as a former barman, I can tell you that’s an exceedingly sure bet.”
    The kettle began its low wail, and Rob rose to make the coffee. Merry watched as he
     spooned grounds into a mesh filter and started the first cup.
    “Sugar?” he asked, looking up quick enough to catch her staring.
    “No, just black. Thanks.”
    After a couple minutes’ steeping, he knocked the grounds into his trash tub and carried
     the mugs over. She admired his fingers, wrapped around the handles. Graceful, manly
     things. They matched the rest of him, that body with its spare breed of muscularity,
     not a pound of excess. God, she envied people like that. People whose bodies made
     it look so effortless. Bodies that understood food as fuel, and exercise as a function
     of their daily lives. For Merry, food was so much more—a foe and a lover and a friend.
     And exercise—until this trip—had been an obligation grudgingly retrofitted into an
     otherwise comfortable and sedentary routine.
    Those were the girls she’d been most jealous of, growing up—not just the thin, fashionable
     ones, but the types who surfed or rock climbed, who lived in such obvious peace with
     their bodies. Took
joy
in using their bodies. Mastered them. Merry’s had always felt like a bully. A great,
     heavy oaf pinning her to the ground, taunting.
    She blew on her steaming coffee and took a taste. “Oh man.”
    “Good?”
    She hazarded another sip. It had nothing on Blue Bottle, to be sure, but it was strong.
     And after two-plus weeks without a decent fix . . . “This is the most amazing coffee
     I’ve ever tasted.”
    “Much like your next hot shower will be the most amazing one you’ve ever taken.”
    “No doubt.” She reveled in the next mouthful. “Oh yeah.”
    Rob smirked.
    “I had a cup in each of the villages I’ve stopped in. But that was just watery gas-station-type
     coffee.” Not like this ambrosia, with its sinful, grimy, coffee-press heartiness.
     “Thank you.”
    “My pleasure.”
    “You don’t have any secret whiskey squirreled away for celebrations, do you?”
    He shook his head. “I don’t, no.”
    “Oh well. There’s plenty of that waiting for me in Inverness. Coffee’s exotic enough
     for now. Though if you thought I was chatty and annoying before . . .”
    Rob made a shifty face, one that told her that yes, he had thought that, but felt
     poorly about it now.
    She laughed. “It’s okay. I know how I am. Any time there’s a silence I immediately
     start stuffing words into it.”
    “Don’t be offended if I don’t invite you to come deer-stalking, then.”
    “Fine. I’ll stick to tree-stalking. Easier to chase.”
    “The chase is the best part.”
    That gave her pause. Rob struck her as many things, but a bloodthirsty pursuer was
     not one of them. She wondered if hunting brought a wicked gleam to his eye . . . or
     if he approached deer with the same measured, anxious steps as he had her. Then she
     wondered, how might he approach a woman? One he had designs on? Nervous and cagey?
     Hopefully not. She tried to imagine him making a move on
her
. Would she even recognize it? Was he making one now?
    “Did you get hit on much, when you were behind a bar?” she asked.
    A lopsided sort of grin, revealing that teeth did indeed live behind those lips, and
     a nice set at that. “Not especially. Though I’ve never been the sharpest when it comes
     to picking up on feminine signals.”
    Are you gay?
Merry seriously doubted it. She’d been honing her gaydar for thirty-one years, and
     in the Castro of all places. Gay Mesopotamia. Rob didn’t register even the faintest
     blip.
    “Women don’t make it easy,” she offered. “Men think they’re smooth, the way they approach
     girls, but women flirt,