“I’ve got it,” I hear a deep voice say behind me.
I turn around, and dear god, my brain short-circuits.
The man standing there is... well, he's the kind of handsome that makes you forget words. Dark hair, just messy enough to look like he’s walked off a photoshoot at the beach. His jawline’s sharp, and his eyes are, dare I say it, pretty as hell, but on him? They look like a mystery. Blue, green, or a shade of both. They’re the kind of eyes I could never forget.
And he’s tall. Like, unfairly tall. Well dressed, too, like he’s got a personal tailor or something.
“I—that's really nice, but—” I stammer, suddenly aware that I might have been staring a beat too long.
Awkward much?
“Consider it my good deed for the day,” he says, handing the barista a twenty before I can protest further. His English sounds a little rough around the edges. Not bad…just…not true-born American. It’s sexy, though, and the way he rolls out his words feels like a caress to my senses.
“Well, now I owe you...” I trail off, realizing I don't know his name.
“Valentin.” He gives me his name without hesitation. “And you are?”
“Oh, I’m Gela.” I immediately throw out my hand, and just then, my bag slides down my shoulder. I awkwardly fold my arm to hang it on my elbow and bend over slightly to my side, keeping it in balance as I offer the handshake.
God, I can’t even imagine how clumsy I look right about now. I feel my neck heat. I see his eyes trace my body, making notes on how I stand, and pray he doesn’t think me a klutz.
Even if he does, he doesn’t say. He just smiles a little, so little in fact that I wonder if there is even a smile on that smoldering face, and takes my hand.
When he does? I swear there's an actual, physical jolt of electricity. Static? Probably static.
“Nice to meet you, Gela Jones.” He says my full name, as if it’s a secret we share.
The barista clears her throat. “Iced tea is up!”
I snatch my hand back with burning cheeks.
“So.” I turn back to Valentin. “I’d love to pay you back… is there any way I could?”
“Pay me back?” He looks at me quizzically, like it’s a concept he hasn’t heard of.
“Yes. You know…for the iced tea?” I take a sip and watch him over the rim of my cup. Behind him, people get impatient,and instead of placing his order, he actually steps out of line to talk to me.
“Oh!” I ask, flustered. “You lost your spot!”
“I don’t mind,” he shrugs, like he’s got all the time in the world.
“Northwestern, right?” he asks.
I blink. “How did you—”
“The pin on your bag,” he explains, pointing to my forgotten alumni pin attached to my tote.
“Oh! Right. Class of 2022.”
Is he trying to make conversation with me, and would it be so bad? I can't remember the last time I noticed a guy in this way. Probably before I started my business and romance fell to priority number... well, it's not even on the list anymore.
“Smart girl,” he says, giving me a once-over that doesn’t feel entirely innocent. This should be my cue to run, right? But instead, I find my heart fluttering around like a little butterfly in my chest.
“Not that smart.” I strive to maintain a cool and aloof demeanor. Just then, my phone rings. I quickly glance over to see it’s from the office.
“Hey, listen.” I put the call on silent for now, deciding to call back later, and look up to see Valentin watching me with an intensity that makes my stomach flip. “About that money…” My voice trails off, like my brain can’t comprehend words and how handsome he is at the same time.
“Like I said, my treat.”
