by J. M. Snyder
At this hour, there’s little traffic, so I trot across the street to the brick building and hurry inside. The heat of the coffee is burning through the cup in my hand, and I wish I’d thought to pick up one of those cardboard sleeves to help insulate it. Too late now. Seth’s office is on the second floor. I take the stairs two at a time, my haste only partly fueled by the hot drink I hold. I can’t wait to see Seth again.
There’s a brass plaque on the door at the end of the hall that reads Jackson Realty. I hesitate—do I knock?—but through the floor-length window beside the door, a receptionist spies me and waves me in. Relieved, I push through the door and stop when I see Seth’s friend Lonzo standing next to the desk.
“Hey,” I say, my voice a little weak.
The receptionist is a busty brunette with purple cat’s-eye glasses and an overbite. “Good afternoon,” she chirps, too happy to see me. “And you’re here for …”
Beside her, Lonzo smirks. “Seth, I’m sure.” Watching me closely, he adds, “When did you guys start delivering?”
“We don’t.” Suddenly the drink feels heavy in my hands—bringing it was a stupid idea. I stutter through an explanation. “I just thought…”
Footsteps approach down a side hall, and before I even turn to look, I hear Seth’s warm voice diffuse the situation. “Austin, hey!” He sounds happy to see me, thank God. An eager smile on his face ignites his eyes. His gaze drops down the length of my body, taking it all in, a very obvious once-over that makes me blush. “You look different without the apron.”
I look at him in another flawless suit and sigh. Damn, he’s perfect. “Different how?”
“In a good way,” he assures me. Depositing a folder on the receptionist’s desk, he takes my elbow. His touch burns through the thin, long-sleeved T-shirt I wear. “Let’s go back to my office. Is that for me?”
He notices the drink so I hand it over. “I thought since you didn’t get one this morning…”
The pleased warmth in his eyes is thanks enough. “You are awesome,” he says, causing my blush to deepen. It’s just a drink, really. Nothing special. But his arm eases around my back, leading me down the hall to his office, and I lean back against him, eager for any closeness I can get.
He sips at the drink and sighs, then after a few steps, remembers his manners. Half-turning, he points behind us at the reception area. “You know Lonzo. Jeanie, this is Austin.”
I glance over my shoulder and she waves, so I smile quickly. As we turn a corner, I hear her talking to Lonzo. “So that’s the guy? He’s cute.”
Seth’s office is at the end of the hall. Once inside, he closes the door and motions to a patent leather sofa along one wall. “Have a seat.”
I drift over to the sofa, trying to look everywhere at once. Seth’s desk is big and bulky, his chair swiveled to look out the window behind it. The blinds are open, giving him an excellent view of the street and our small strip of stores on the opposite side. As I drift closer, I sense him behind me. When he speaks, I smell the coffee on his breath and his voice is so close, mere inches from my ear. “Sometimes when you’re sweeping up in the front of the café, I can see you from here.”
I don’t know what to say, so I keep quiet a moment, thinking. He watches me? Note to self—don’t do anything stupid near the storefront windows. After an awkward silence, I see the door to the antique store open and my friend Josh ducks out, making a bee-line for the café. With a laugh, I point to him. “Bet he’s going over to bother me. Ha! I’m not there.”
Seth makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, not quite a laugh. There’s something thoughtful about the sound, something almost sad, and I turn from the window to find him on the opposite side of the room, the distance between us a gulf I don’t know how to span. What’d I say?
Then I notice the small, dorm-size fridge in the corner. “I have some lunch meat if you want to make a sandwich and eat here, or we can go out. It’s up to you. What do you want?”
“Doesn’t matter, really.” You, I want to say, but I’m not that brazen. At Seth’s questioning stare, I shrug. “Sandwiches are good.”
I sit on the sofa as he opens the fridge. Because it’s low to the ground, he has to bend over to reach inside. I bite my lip at the way his pants spread out against his round ass, accentuating his buttocks. God. When he stands, I look away quickly, not wanting to get caught. “Head’s up.”
I glance back in time to fumble a beer can he tosses my way. “I’d offer you coffee but I know you don’t like it. Beer?”
“You’re at work,” I point out, but since I’m not, that doesn’t stop me from popping open the can. I need something, anything, right now. My throat is parched.
“I have the latte,” he reminds me. As I take a deep swallow, he watches me closely. “Thanks for thinking of me.”
I nod, letting the cold booze relax me. What else can I say? That I think of him all the time? I don’t think he wants to know that.
Digging out a plastic grocery bag from the fridge, Seth crosses to the sofa and sits down beside me. The leather squeaks beneath him, but we’re a good three hands apart—if I put my hand next to my leg, and he did the same, there’d still be space between us. That’s too far for me, but I don’t know what to say or do to close the gap.
He sets the bag on the coffee table before us and opens it. There’s half a loaf of wheat bread inside, some fresh tomatoes, deli wrapped ham and turkey, and some thick-cut Swiss cheese. By the time he pulls out a large bag of kettle cooked potato chips, I’m starving. “God, that looks good.”
Seth grins. “There’s mustard and mayo in the fridge, whichever you like.” As he sets out the fixings, he seems lost in thought. Before I can ask what’s on his mind, he wants to know, “That guy at the café the other day, the one with the lime cappuccino? Is he your friend?”
“I’ve known Josh forever,” I say, savoring the beer. “Sometimes he can be a little…odd, though. That lime thing—”
Seth laughs. “Lonzo said it wasn’t half bad.”
There’s that name again. Lonzo. Already I hate him. I clear my throat. “So he works here with you?” Of course he does, stupid. You saw him at the front when you came in, remember? Hello? I wish my brain would kick in before my mouth sometimes.
“Lonzo? We go way back.” Seth laughs, though I don’t see anything funny about what he just said. “No, I’m lying. It just feels like I’ve known him a long time. We met in business school. When my dad offered me a job, I asked if he’d hire Lonz, too.”
“You’re that close?” I hope he doesn’t see the jealousy in my eyes or hear the bitterness in my voice.
Seth shrugs. “He’s a trip. Funniest guy you’ll ever meet. I think you’d hit it off well with him.”
I don’t want to hit it off with Lonzo, and right now I don’t want to hear Seth talk about him, either. If he’s so damn funny, let him hook up with Josh and leave Seth to me.
My silence doesn’t clue Seth in that I’m not interested in hearing about his friend. “He likes coffee,” Seth continues, as if I asked. I didn’t. “I told him about your place and I must’ve talked it up too much, because he wanted to check it out for himself. He really liked that Raspberry Mocha. Good choice.”
“Thanks.” I set the beer down on the table and feel myself pouting—I didn’t come here for this.
The leather sofa squeaks as Seth scoots a little closer to me. “Lonzo’s a party animal,” he says, watching me. I want to scream, Who cares? “You strike me as the type who likes to have fun. You should come out with us sometime.”
“I’m not really into that,” I whisper.
“Into what?”
I look up to meet those incredible eyes. He’s so close now, no longer three hands away, not two, not even one. I feel his leg press alongside mine and his hand drifts to my thigh…how did he get this close without me noticing?
My voice is barely audible. “I’m not here to talk about Lonzo.”
Seth’
s hand brushes over mine, his fingers warm and soft. “I didn’t think you were.” He takes my hand in his and I feel like I’m falling. “Are you seeing Josh?”
For a moment I want this to last forever—this tenderness, this intimacy. But the thought of dating Josh, Josh, ruins it. I sputter with laughter I can’t contain. “Oh, God, no. Jesus. No. No, no, no.” I shudder at the thought, grimacing. “I can’t—ugh. A thousand times, no.”
Seth grins. “Just thought I’d ask.”
Now that the tension has dispersed between us, I feel coy enough to ask, “Why do you want to know?”
His answer is in the way he leans forward, eyes slipping shut. I hold my breath and watch him kiss me. He’s strong and sure, his tongue eager as he parts my lips and delves into my mouth. His hand cradles my chin as he wraps his other arm around my waist, pulling me closer.
Yes. This is what I came for, what I’ve been wanting since I first met him. I shut my eyes and let my body respond to his.
* * * *
“A Coco-Mocha café au lait, please.”
It’s Monday already, and from the stupid sound of the drink order, I know it can only be one person. I look up to find Josh at the counter, grinning like a fool.
“A what?” I ask, wiping my hands on the washcloth.
“Listen carefully,” he says, as if I’m the dumb one. “Coco—that means coconut. Mocha—that means chocolate. And you know what a café au lait is.”
I shake my head, grinning. “You want coconut syrup and chocolate in a cup of coffee and milk? Jesus Christ, that’s disgusting.”
“It’s today’s special,” he says, picking up the clapboard. “Give me the chalk.”
I toss the chalk to him and begin making his drink. As I pour the coconut syrup into the cup, I grimace. It smells like tanning lotion and can’t taste much better.
As he writes on the board, Josh asks, “So how’s the boyfriend?”
“He isn’t my boyfriend yet,” I point out. “We’ve only had three dates.”
Josh ticks them off on his hand. “Lunch on Thursday. Friday night at the movies. Dinner on Saturday. So what, you didn’t see him on Sunday?”
“We stayed in on Sunday,” I say with a smirk. “It doesn’t count as another date if he doesn’t take you home after the last one.”
“Whoo!” Josh whoops loudly—thank God there are no other customers in the café. “When’s your next booty call?”
I snap the washcloth at Josh playfully. “A booty call is sex only. We haven’t even—“
“Bullshit.” Josh covers his ears and talks over me. “Don’t lie to me, fucker. I know you two did it. You had to. How’d you spend the night without sleeping with him?”
I shake my head and smile at the memory. We slept together, yes, twined in each other’s arms in Seth’s full-size bed, but we didn’t have sex. It was intimate, the two of us talking in the dark well into the night, each learning about the other, falling in love. Okay, maybe there was some touching, but nothing much. Not yet. We’re taking this slow.
With a glance at the clock, I notice it’s almost five. “He should be here soon to pick me up. We’re going back to my place tonight—”
“Gah!” Josh clamps his hands tighter onto his ears. “That’s TMI.”
“Sorry,” I say, but I’m not really. I’m gushing and I love talking about Seth. I’ll talk about him to anyone who will listen. Even my manager is getting tired of hearing about him, and he’s one of her best customers.
Josh finishes writing up his specialty drink and sits down at the bar. I hand him his glass. “What, no whipped cream?”
I roll my eyes and squirt cream all over the top of his drink. Stirring the cream into the hot liquid, he looks at me critically. “He’s completely out of your league, you know that?”
I shrug. “There’s just something about him that feels so right.”
Josh waggles his eyebrows at me. “And then there’s the sex.”
I fling the washcloth at him again as The bell above the door jingles. When I look up, Seth’s there, smiling just for me. “Speaking of. Hey, Seth.” I’m so happy to see him.
He leans over the counter and kisses me. “Hey, Aus.” He nods at Josh, then glances at his watch. “I’m a little early. You think I have time for a drink?”
“Anything for you,” I say, kissing him again.
“You two cut it out,” Josh calls from the bar. “I don’t want cooties in my drink.”
Seth laughs, taking a seat next to Josh as I make his drink. “And what are you drinking today?”
Josh pushes the cup over to him. “Coco-Mocha café au lait,” he says proudly, the words rolling off his tongue. “Have a sip.”
“I don’t think so.”
When I give Seth his drink, he catches my hand and pulls me across the bar for another kiss. “Miss me?”
“You know I did,” I murmur against his lips.
“You guys get a room already,” Josh grumbles.
I slap him with the washcloth one last time before I start to clean the espresso machine. Another ten minutes and I’ll leave with Seth. I can’t wait until my shift is up.
THE END
Car Trouble
Terrence Jackson is on his way home from another long day at the advertising firm he owns when he hears it—a steady chug-chug-chug beneath the hood of his brand new, candy-apple red Mercedes that he knows the sports car shouldn’t be making. He paid too much money for this damn thing to have it sound like an old man wheezing uphill. The late afternoon heat only adds to his discomfort. By the time he pulls into the driveway of his modest, split-level home, he’s ready to call the dealership and chew someone out for selling him a lemon.
By morning, he’s calm enough to call the firm first to tell them he’ll be late. His secretary answers. A pretty, young girl with a thick Southern accent, Melissa Jones is fresh out of college and, if truth be told, was hired more for her looks than her filing abilities. Though Terrence isn’t the least bit interested in the fairer sex, she’s nice to look at, and sounds sweet on the phone. “Would you like me to call Gary’s Auto for you, Mr. Jackson?” she asks, her voice bright despite the early hour. “They’re such nice people there. I always have them service my car.”
“I was planning to take it back to the dealer,” Terrence admits. “It’s not that old.”
Through his cell phone, he hears the rustle of papers as Melissa digs amid her obscure filing system to find the paperwork on the car. He’s already behind the wheel of his Mercedes, his tie not quite cinched tight just yet. The first beads of sweat trickle down the back of his thick neck into the cool cotton of his button-down shirt. He angles the rear-view mirror to take a look at himself—dark skin with a hint of reddish undertones like mahogany, short buzzed hair beginning to turn gray at the temples, large eyes the warm color of hot chocolate. He’s a big man, a one-time high school football quarterback now on the downhill side of forty and picking up speed. The muscle around his middle has begun to soften, and lines etch around his eyes when he smiles. Melissa calls him handsome, in a flirty, innocent way that suggests she thinks he’s past his prime.
After an eternity, she tells him, “No, sir. You bought the car last year, and you didn’t get the extended warranty. If you don’t mind me saying, I think the dealership would just rip you off. Gary’s is pretty cheap.”
For a young co-ed on a tight budget, Gary’s might be fine perhaps, but not for the principal of Richmond’s largest ad firm. Still, Terrence is touched she’d think him naïve enough to get rooked by the dealer.
“Besides,” she says amid a flurry of noise as she shoves the papers back into her unorganized drawer, “Gary’s is just down the street. If you have to leave your car there, you can walk to the office, or I can send someone over to pick you up.”
That cinches it. “All right,” Terrence teases, “you’ve convinced me. Do you get a commission or something for referring people that way?”
“I’m sort of seeing Gar
y,” she admits with a laugh. “I can call them for you—”
Figures. “Just give me the number. I know you have a million other things you need to be doing. I can’t tie you up any longer.”
As Terrence dials the service station, he turns the key in his ignition. The engine purrs like a kitten, without complaint. Maybe something just got caught up under the hood, he thinks as he puts the car into reverse. With the phone ringing in his ear, he eases his foot off the clutch, gives it a little gas…
A heavy knocking sound comes from the hood, as if gremlins beat against the metal, trying to get out. Terrence steps on the brake and the car stalls beneath him. Fuck.
Before he can restart the car, a young male voice answers the phone with a gruff hello. Despite the fact that it’s after eight in the morning, the guy sounds as if he just woke up. He even punctuates his greeting with a barely stifled yawn.
Terrence isn’t impressed. He hates businesses that answer the phone without announcing their name. The first thing Melissa says when she picks up the receiver is, “Jackson Ads.” Callers don’t have to wonder if they called the wrong number.
His voice is sharper than he intends it to be when he snaps, “This Gary’s?”
“Yeah. This is Gary. Who’s this?”
Terrence can almost picture the guy—one of those dark Italian boys, judging from his northern accent. He was probably dozing at his desk when the phone rang, and even now rubs his eyes sleepily, his dark hair a disheveled mess, his cheeks and chin rough with stubble he should’ve shaved off but didn’t.