“You do that with everyone?” he says, eyeing my doodles.
“Just a habit.” I set my pen down to look at him. “Have you tried talking to anyone about this yet?”
“Nah, too embarrassing.” He looks over my shoulder towards the door. “Hey, Mr. B.”
My body goes rigid. My breathing stops, and my heart rate picks up.
My palms are sweaty.
Knees weak—arms are heavy.
Okay, Eleanor, donotsing that song right now.
“Hey, DJ,” Benny responds, approaching the table. He touches my arm and the heat in my body surges to where he squeezes tenderly.
“Hey there,” he whispers to me.
“Hi.” My mind is hyper focused on his hand. He grazes his thumb in circles, sending goosebumps up my neck and behind my ears.
Fist-bumping Devon, he walks over to the counter to place his order. I’m probably staring at him like a lovesick puppy when Devon clears his throat.
“Smooth.” He laughs into his coffee.
“Uh . . . I . . . ugh.” Fumbling on my words, I rub my temple and try to refocus, “Back to you and this—”
“Nah, this is fun.” His eyes are playful as he looks at Benny over his shoulder. “So, what’s going on there?”
Whatisgoing on there?
“I’m not sure.” I bite my thumb as I look over at Benny too.
Talking with Sam at the counter, Benny laughs and my heart just about stops. I stealthily reposition in my seat to get a better look. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone, the divot in his chest almost visible. His sleeves are rolled up unevenly, arms flexing as he puts his hands in his pockets. It’s his effortlessly sexy end of the day look. A handsome ruggedness all held together by a few buttons. I want so badly to break the rules—all of them—parkour over this table and . . .
“Well, he’s a good guy. Annoying as hell sometimes, but I’d trust him with my life.”
“Devon, buddy I need help back here! Break’s over!” Sam calls from the counter.
I blink out of my making-out-with-Benny daydream and refocus on Devon. “Come by my office tomorrow and we can talk more.”
He nods, chugging the rest of his coffee, and hurrying to grab plates from the counter.
Benny pays Sam and heads back towards me, beaming. Like he’s having the same daydream I was just having.Wishful thinking.
I watch as he weaves through tables, greeting multiple people on the way. Some students, some adults—all of them excited to see him and talk to him. I see the genuine joy ooze out of him as he entertains each person’s small talk, inching closer and closer to me each chance he gets. Not once does he look at me withhelp meeyes, but instead, eyes that say, “I’ll be right there.”
I chuckle as he leaves the last table to make the final stride to our table when an elderly woman cuts him off in the aisle, hugging him at his waist. He hesitates in response, probably startled with the physical contact, and smiles at me over her shoulder.
I smirk and lift my coffee cup to him.
He rolls his eyes as he says his greetings to the gray-haired woman, gently moves past her and glides into the booth, sitting across from me.
“Finally.” He exhales as he slumps against his seat.
“You’re just so popular around here.”
“Gotta please the people.” He laughs, nudging my foot with his.
“Of course.” I laugh, tapping his foot back, then placing both feet on top of his.
