But I also want to fake an emergency, pull him into the restroom, and tear his shirt off. And that’s not a feeling I’ve ever experienced before. Sure, I’ve found guys attractive. And if the moment calls for it, I’m not opposed to a guy taking his shirt off. But I’ve never yearned for it. I’ve certainly never let it play out in my head.
But that’s what I’m doing right now: mentally undressing a man in a coffee shop. And planning to sit down with him and make a sex calendar.
This is my life now.
And, to be honest, it’s a little terrifying. The angel on my shoulder is telling me that I have perfectly good coffee and creamer at home, for free, and that I should turn around right now and make myself a cup. The angel thinks I should either quit the study, or do only what’s necessary in the privacy of my bedroom or my shower. She doesn’t think I should talk to Blue about any of it, and she really doesn’t think I should let him get anywhere near me with his hands or his mouth.
But when Blue spots me in the doorway and waves me over, I have an uncontrollable urge to tell her to shut the hell up. Instead, I ignore my imaginary shoulder companions, walk through the crowded coffee shop, and slide into the seat across from Blue. He greets me with a warm smile. How have I never noticed that his smile is a little lopsided. Or maybe it’s his mustache that’s making it look a little crooked. And while we’re on the subject, why is his mustache so damn sexy? It shouldn’t be. It should look like there’s a caterpillar stuck to his face. But no. He just looks effortlessly cool and undeniably hot.
Great. I’m probably staring at him, so I turn my gaze to the menu board above the cash register, even though I already know what I’m going to order. I’ve decided to treat myself to ahazelnut mocha because I freaking deserve it, and also because I’m working the dinner shift tonight, so the tips should be pretty good. Before I even rise from my chair, a tall, sandy-haired guy whose name tag readsTheostops by our table and drops off to steaming mugs and a plate of muffins.
“I figured the hazelnut mocha was a safe bet,” Blue says, gesturing toward the drink. “And these muffins are the stuff of legend. Plus, I didn’t get my customary French toast at brunch with my dad today, so this white chocolate raspberry muffin is going to have to do the trick.” Plucking the muffin from the plate, he starts to peel away the wrapper, then suddenly stops. “Unless you want it,” he amends, offering the treat to me.
“No thanks,” I say, reaching for the blueberry muffin instead. “This is perfect.”
For a few minutes, we eat and drink in relative silence. It’s definitely the longest span of time I’ve spent in his presence without arguing, and I have to admit, it’s nice. He’s nice. It’s weird, and I don’t know what to do about it.
“You okay, DeWalt?” he asks, popping the last bite of muffin into his mouth.
I’m about to lie and say everything is fine, but at the last second, my mouth opts for the truth. “This is crazy, right? I mean, it was great, but it would be ridiculous to keep going, right? We don’t even get along, so it was probably a terrible idea to begin with.”
Blue nabs another muffin and unwraps it before turning his attention on me. “I’ll take those questions in order. First up, you want to know if this is crazy? The answer is yes. Absolute batshit. Next up, you said it was great, and I agree with that, too. Honestly, it was better than great. And I wouldn’t say we don’t get along,” he hedges, drawing out the word. “But, yeah, we’re not exactly best friends. And now you want to know if yourproposal was a terrible idea? Fine by me, but answer this first: did you like it?”
I nod without even thinking. “Of course I did. I already told you it was great. Do you really need me to feed your ego that badly? Don’t answer that, because I already know you do. ”
“Guilty,” he admits. “Look, I’m going to be totally transparent here. You’re calling all the shots. If you want to keep going, we keep going. If you want to stop, we stop. It’s totally up to you.”
“I want to,” I blurt. “I do. But we need to set up some parameters,” I say, arching my brow in his direction. If he balks at this, I’m taking my fancy coffee and heading home.
But his posture remains relaxed. “Parameter away,” he says, threading his hands together behind his neck.
My arms are on the table, my hands folded in front of me as I look him in the eye. “We already agreed to be exclusive, and that’s non-negotiable.”
“Yeah,” he agrees easily. “And I’m on board. What else have you got for me, DeWalt?”
I clear my throat, because this is awkward to talk about. But it’s also necessary. “I know our arrangement is more about me than you,” I begin, my words stopping momentarily when his forehead creases.
“I’m no saint, Liza,” Blue says with a shake of his head. “I’m not doing this for brownie points or because I’ve got a hero complex or some shit. Believe me when I say that making you feel good is a huge turn on for me.”
I wait for him to elaborate, but when he doesn’t my brain flips to autopilot, making me sound as though I just finished a middle school health class. “We have to use a condom if we ever…you know. Not that we have to have sex-sex with each other. We can just mess around, because, technically, that’s our deal. But if we do decide to, uh, move in that direction, I insiston condoms. I’m on the pill, but it’s not perfect, and I’m a firm believer in backup.”
“No argument from me one that one, either, Liza. Safety first, always. And I’m about to become a grandpa. I’m not interested in becoming a dad, too.”
“Good,” I say, glad we’re on the same page. “There’s another thing…no kissing.”
I swear this whole coffee shop falls silent as Blue processes my words. “No kissing? Like, anywhere?”
I can’t help the blush that stains my cheeks. “There will be times and places and situations when your lips will be connected with parts of my body,” I concede. “But your lips can’t touch mine. It feels too intimate, and I know that probably sounds crazy because of all the places your lips will be, but that’s a dealbreaker for me.”
Blue’s quiet for a minute before nodding. “Got it. That probably covers everything, but if anything else crops up, I think we can handle it as long as we talk it out, you know?”
“Yes,” I agree. “Communication is key. But there is one more thing…no one else can know. If we do this—well, when we do this, we need to keep it quiet. People talk and rumors spread, and I can’t lose my job or my housing just because we’re…doing things.”
“Then we keep it to ourselves,” he says easily. “No one has to know, if that’s the way you want it.”
“Yes, definitely,” I answer quickly. “But how? What are the logistics? Should we sync our schedules? Text each other? We can’t exactly write it on the fridge calendar.”
Blue barks out a laugh. “Yeah, that would probably be a bad idea. I’m not saying we live with a bunch of geniuses, but I’m pretty sure all of our roommates could crack that code. But I don’t feel like we need military-grade strategy, you know? Wecan look at our schedules, see when we’re both free, and go from there. ”
