Latte Darling (Darling #2) Read Online S.J. Tilly

Categories Genre: Romance Tags Authors: Series: Darling Series by S.J. Tilly

Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 93603 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)

I have a nice life – living in my hometown, owning the coffee shop I’ve worked at since I was 16.
It’s comfortable.
On paper.
But I’m tired of doing everything by myself. Tired of being in charge of every decision in my life.
I want someone to lean on. Someone to spend time with. Sit with. Hug.
And I really don’t want to go to my best friend’s wedding alone.
So, I signed up for a dating app, and agreed to meet with the first guy that messaged me.
And now here I am, at the bar.
Only it’s not my date that just sat down in the chair across from me. It’s his dad.
And holy hell, he’s the definition of Silver Fox. If a Silver Fox can be thick as a house, have piercing blue eyes and tattoos from his neck down to his fingertips.


Chapter 1


“Oh, um, excuse me,” I lift my hand, catching the eye of the server that’s about to walk past.

“Hey, honey,” the woman stops and smiles down at me. “Would you like another?”

My teeth clamp down on my lip before I can stop them, and I nod.

I don’t need it. I definitely shouldn’t have it. But I didn’t drive here tonight, and in five minutes this guy will officially be late, and I can’t handle the stress.

Okay, so in five minutes it will be the time we agreed to meet, but come on, if you’re not early you’re late. And if you’re late, someone might get mad. And if someone gets mad there might be confrontation. And if there’s confrontation there will be tears. And ohmygod I’m not gonna make it through the night!

Watching the server lean against the bar as she waits for my drink to be made, I lift my nearly empty glass, pinch the tiny straw between my lips, and suck down the rest of my first vodka cranberry.

Usually I’d stick to hard cider if I’m drinking out, but there’s nothing usual about tonight.

Air rattles through the straw and I set my glass back down on the table.

I’ve never been here before, but since I was already trying something new, I figured I might as well do new all the way around. Which, in theory, sounded like a great idea. In practice, it’s dumb. Like, super dumb. Because not only am I about to meet some stranger named Brian for a first date, but I’m also about to do it in a totally new location. But since he let me pick the when and where, I have only myself to blame.

The Bar is aptly named and currently living up to its 3.5-star Google rating. The lighting is dim and the music – some sort of rock – is loud, but the table isn’t sticky, and the drinks aren’t expensive. And it’s only a few towns over so the Uber wasn’t too bad.

Plus, my bestie, Elouise, knows where I am. And I sent her a screenshot of Brian’s profile picture so if I go missing, she has something to show the police.

My hands twitch to pick up my still empty glass, so I put them in my lap and wedge my fingers between my thighs.

My jeans are skintight, and extremely uncomfortable to sit in, but they make my butt look cute when I’m standing.

At just over five feet, my curves are better suited for a woman a foot taller than me. But since I’m done growing, and I can’t stop myself from consuming the calories that lead to my extra softness, I need clothes that hold it all in. Hence the tight-as-hell denim.

Elouise once called me a short, black haired, Jessica Rabbit, but she was just being nice. The only thing JR and I have in common is big tits.

Pulling free from its spot between my thighs, one of my hands reaches up to smooth down my hair.

My long black locks are usually a curly mess, but I straightened them tonight. I don’t know why I bothered, since this Minnesota summer is in full swing. The hot humid air outside setting off my frizz.

Giving up, I shove my hand back between my thighs. My shoulders automatically hunching forward, my nerves reaching an all-time high as my leg starts to bounce.

Just when I think a panic attack is imminent, the server is back.

“Here you go, hun.” She swaps out my empty with a fresh glass.

My mumbled thank you is lost in the din of voices and music, but she still smiles before turning to attend another table.

The drink is filled all the way to the brim so I hold my hair back and lean forward until I can sip through the straw.

Elouise convinced me to wear my cap-sleeved, low cut, bright white shirt, claiming it makes my hair pop. And she’s right. The black against the white cotton stands out. But spilling red liquid down the front would stand out even more and that’s not something I’m looking to add to my aesthetic.