“He’s buying you more food?” Rose asks.
“No, coffee.”
“Coffee is the most sacred food group,” she answers matter-of-factly. “He’s buying you food, it’s a date,” she says in a no-nonsense tone.
“It’s not a date,” I say, repeating myself. I don’t want it to be a date. I need to settle into myself before I start dating again.
After getting mani-pedis with Ellie and Lacey, I walk the few blocks from the nail salon to the coffee house where I’m supposed to meet Ian.
The minute I walk in I spot him. He’s sitting in a back corner wearing a tight black t-shirt and a backwards hat. A thigh tattoo and a backwards hat.
Looking up, I thank the lord that he did not grant me a dick, because this would be awkward. Good God, this guy just pushes all my buttons. Maybe Lacey was right and I need to get laid. Or maybe I just need a new and improved B.O.B. Yes, that’s what I’ll do tonight, shop for a new B.O.B. That way I know for sure I’ll leave the bed satisfied. B.O.B. never lets his girl down—always polite and makes sure I finish first. With a plan firmly in place for later when I get home, I make my way over to where he’s sitting.
You know it’s his touch you’ll be thinking about the entire time, might as well get the real thing, the little devil on my shoulder says.
He’s not wrong. I’ve never been sex obsessed, or boy obsessed; always preferred to be level-headed when it came to boys. Always tried to make the best choice, and not be ruled by my hormones.And look where that got you,the voice continues. Maybe I should switch things up and think with my hormones instead of my head.
Shaking those thoughts out of my head, I decide to just enjoy my afternoon with him and let what happens happen.
“I hope you haven’t been waiting long,” I say, pulling his attention away from his phone and taking a seat across from him.
With a smile he looks at me. “Just long enough to order you your favorite iced coffee and to take the liberty of ordering you my favorite pastry: the almond croissant,” he says with a flourish.
“Thank you, “ I say with a blush as I sit down. “I’ve never had an almond croissant.”
“Well then, you’ve been missing out!” he says, taking a bite of his own. “Fair warning though, they are messy,” he continues after taking a crumbling bite.
Taking a bite, making sure I don’t get crumbs or almond shavings all over myself, I can’t stop the moan that slips out of my mouth, making my cheeks heat up once again.
Doesn’t matter what this guy does, he has me blushing like a sixteen-year-old girl with her first crush.
“I’ve clearly been missing out,” I say once I’m half done with the pastry.
“I know right! I discovered these during my one and only hockey season away from Calgary,” he says between bites.
“Where did you play?”
“I played half a season in the QHL, out in Moncton, New Brunswick. The billet family I lived with used to take me to a small pastry shop at least once a week. It’s where my love affair with these things started,” he says as he pops the last piece of the pastry in his mouth, making even that look hot as sin.
Shaking my head, I sip my latte and take in the coffee shop. It would be the perfect place to come write. Dim lighting, exposed ceiling, soft instrumental music playing in the background, along with the whirl of the espresso machines. The brown, neutral tones and lush green plants scattered around the rough tables and leather seats are just as inviting as the smell of freshcoffee that hangs in the air. The perfect place for the perfect meet cute in my book . . .
“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” Ian asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
Turning my attention back to him, I say, “Sorry, I’m being rude. Just stuck in my mind, thinking about my book.”
“What about your book?” he asks as he leans back into his chair sipping his coffee.
“Nothing important.”
“Come on. You’ve been working on it nonstop, tell me what you’re thinking about,” he responds as he continues looking at me. “Unless you don’t want to. That's fine too.”
“It’s not that, I just don’t want to bore you,” I answer, looking down at my hands that are wrapped around the plastic cup of my latte. Lucas never wanted to hear what I was working on.
“You won’t bore me, I promise,” he says, tapping his pinky against mine that’s tightly wrapped around my cup.
“Fine. I was just thinking that I should come write here some day, and that I need to change my meetcute from the park to this coffee shop,” I say as I continue to look around, mentally taking notes of the place.
Before he can answer, his phone vibrates on the table. “And that would be our cue to make our way over to the tattoo parlour. Unless you want to keep scoping out the place.”
