It takes me a full three seconds to realize that she doesn’t recognize me. Apparently, she was so drunk last night that she blacked out our meeting.
I’m silent for too long, because she fills the awkward moment with a nervous laugh.
“I guess not. Black Americano, got it.”
She puts a lid on the cup that has my name written on it and places it on the counter between us.
Something tightens my gut, a strange sensation that I’ve felt before, but never to this degree. The pang is harsh enough to make me grimace.
Anger.
I’m angry that she doesn’t remember me. She doesn’t rememberus, the electric connection we share.
She drops her lovely eyes and quickly returns to her espresso machine. Her fingers tremble slightly as she reaches for the milk jug.
I realize that I’m scowling.
I never lose control of my facial expression.
“I’m sorry,” I say as smoothly as I can manage. The last thing I want is to scare her off.
I’m more than just annoyed, but I’m finding the intensity of my response to her fascinating, even if it is unpleasant.
“I was short with you. I suppose I might’ve had more whiskey last night than I thought. A bit of a headache this morning.” The lie comes easily. “The coffee will help. Thank you.”
“No worries. Enjoy!” Her sunny smile is back, but she keeps her focus on her work.
Fuck.
I intimidated her.
How did this go so badly? I’d expected to sweep her off her feet. We should be exchanging numbers right now, and she’s supposed to be sitting across from me at a sumptuous dinner in a few hours.
And she’s meant to be screaming my name in my bed shortly thereafter.
Instead, she won’t even look at me.
An odd feeling comes over me again, and I’m more reluctant to acknowledge this one.
Insecurity?
The ground feels like it’s shifting under my feet, and the angry churning in my gut has been replaced by a disconcerting knotting sensation.
It’s unpleasant and completely foreign to me.
Fascinating.
Suddenly, I’m eager to know what other new feelings this puzzle of a woman might elicit from me. I’m currently experiencing a spectrum of discomfiting emotions. But there’s the other side of the coin, too.
What would it be like to experience more than cruel, fleeting pleasure?
What ecstatic high will I achieve when she murmurs my name like a prayer and begs me for an orgasm only I can give her?
“I’m new to the area,” I say instead of leaving her side. “I’m sure I’ll see you again.”
Her nervous laugh fills the space between us. “We do have good coffee here,” she allows. “And we always love getting new regulars.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning, then.” It’s a promise, and it comes out in a rougher, more intense tone than I intended.
