By the time I dragged ass in to Pete’s Percolator for my late afternoon shift, all the regulars were there with big grins on their faces. Ugh. I should’ve called in. “You’re on counter today, Hollywood.” Pete tossed an apron at me the moment my purse left my hand. “They want the nitty gritty, you give it to them, but only after they pay up. Coffee and a muffin is the price for the goodies. You hear me?” I stared at the copious amounts of muffins in the display case and sighed. Pete was in for a rude awakening because there was no dirt to dish. Okay, so I’d gotten carried out over Caleb’s—sorry, Colt’s—shoulder the night before. Big whoop. So we’d had toe-curling sex. Repeatedly. So we got tossed in the slammer for indecent exposure, after being captured in full color screwing on the balcony. Big whoop. I was in full-blown denial mode and had every intention of staying there. Muscles I’d forgotten existed ached.
