Lou declared, wiping the already clean counter at The Coffee Spot. “I mean, a fireman and a motorcycle-riding, leather-wearing badass? It’s a dangerous excess of hotness. Our heads could’ve imploded from hotness overload.” Rory blinked at her. “First, I don’t think the laws of science really work that way. Second, he’s keeping the motorcycle. And the leather.” “Be careful, then.” With a mock-concerned frown, Lou rinsed the cloth in the sink. “You’re in danger of hotness-induced head implosion every time you’re around Ian Walsh.” “I’ll keep that in mind,” Rory said dryly, unable to quash her grin. The bells on the front door jangled. “And speak of the devil…” Lou grinned at someone behind her. “Hey, Beauty. How are the battle wounds?” Ian gave his usual shrug before sliding a hand across Rory’s back, making her shiver. “Ready?”
