Oh, and go pick a fresh flower for your wife. Just one. You’d be surprised how much it helps bothofyou.
As I pile pizza on my plate, my right hand twinges with an electric pain—damn nerve damage stole the sensation in my last two fingers, and when I’m tired, spasms like this are common. I massage my forearm, willing the fire away, then turn ontheXbox.
“About time,” West teases when I open the voice channel. “I’d started to worry you couldn’t handle my superior battleskills.”
I can’t help snorting. “You mean your superiordyingskills? Lock and load,soldier.”
On screen, my heavily armored character hefts her gun. Smoke swirls around her as the music thuds an ominous beat. I flex my fingers on the controller, waiting for West to engage. His character joins mine, and before long, we’re battling a horde of hostiles while we try to finish thisquest.
“Take that, you piece of shit,” West mutters an hour later as he takes out asentry.
“Nice.” I go after the next in the long line of foes. “You’ve been practicing. Cheating on me with another gamer? Or just lulling me into a false sense ofsecurity?”
He chuckles. “Never. You’re the best partner I’ve ever had.” On screen, he takes out a particularly nasty foe. “Booyah! Take that, yougorramscum.”
Laughing, I launch an attack of my own. He’s almost as geeky as I am, and we’ve had a couple long discussions about the eleventh Doctor Who’s legacy and whether the final season ofBuffywas awfulorepic.
I shift in my chair, and my long-forgotten plate crashes to the floor, sending crumbs everywhere. I curse, forgetting to mute myheadset.
“Youokay?”
“Yeah,” I answer through clenched teeth. “Need a minute.” Hissing out a breath, I force my stiff muscles into action to clean up the mess. Exhaustion burns my eyes, and when I return to the game, I blink hard to focus. “I know it’s early, but I haven’t slept much lately. I’m going to call it anight.”
“Wait.” He pauses the game, and my screen dims. “Have coffee with metomorrow.”
My mouth suddenly feels like the Sahara, and I tug at the neck of my t-shirt. “Um, I’m not sure that’s agoodidea.”
“Don’t tell me you hate coffee. My heart couldn’t take that.” His slight hint of a drawl lends a gentleness to the words, and I wonder if he’d sound as sexy inperson.
“I love coffee. My blood’s caffeinated. But…we should stick to gaming. And VetNet. Keep thingscasual.”
“Angel, we’ve been gaming together for weeks now. I think we’ve moved pastcasual.”
There’s no reason not to meet, other than that vague “this guy could be a serial killer” worry—and my irrational fear of having to becharming.
I don’t docharming.
“Let me buy you a macchiato,” he says. “Have you ever been to BroadcastCoffee?”
“DownonPike?”
“Yep. Best coffee in Seattle. They roast their own beans and have this whole ‘coffee tasting’ experience. What do you usually drink?” The hope in his voice deepens his twang, making my insides melt just alittle.
“I make an Americano every morning. Grocery store beans,though.”
He coughs in disapproval. “Excuse me? I thought we were friends. Now you have to come. Just so you can taste what you’re missing. Give me one cup of coffee to change your mind. If you don’t have a good time, I’ll never askagain.”
Dammit. Coffee with a friend. That’s not a date,right?
“I’ll bethere.”
2
Cam
Caffeine-desperate patrons fill Broadcast Coffee.Conversations carry over the whir of the burr grinders, and the hiss of the steamer wands punctuate the grunge tunes on the speakers. I don't see an open table anywhere, and the idea of doing this “not-a-date” at the standing coffee bar has me glancing towards the exit. Then I notice a god in a blue t-shirt, and I try—unsuccessfully—to pick my chin up off thefloor.
West holds up his hand, and the movement highlights the stars and stripes inked around his bicep. Praying I look more composed than I feel, I weave between the tables as he stands togreetme.
