“No worries,” he says, shrugging with indifference as he takes his cup. My eyes are trained on him, slowly widening as he doesn’t stop lifting the cup until it’s to his lips. He tilts it back, taking a sip of the sickeningly sweet, piping hot liquid.
“What are you doing?” I’m momentarily horrified and equally intrigued by whatever might be wrong with this guy. “Why are you drinking that?”
His movements are slow, his throat bobbing as he swallows. His brow furrows. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t I?”
“Um, because I already drank out of it?”
His eyes slowly search mine. “Still not understanding the problem, Sunny.”
Sunny?
“I’m a complete stranger who drank out of your drink.” I stare back at him in disbelief. How is he still not getting it? Ugh, he’s attractive and ignorant. The worst combination. “How do you know I don’t have some kind of sickness or disease?”
He tilts his head to the side. “Well, do you?”
“No.” My face contorts and I shake my head, huffing out a frustrated breath. “That’s besides the point.”
He stares at me, his expression giving nothing away before his face cracks. His head tilts back, and his chest shakes with laughter. And fuck me for loving the way it sounds. Completely and utterly free. “Shit.” He runs his hand through his hair. “I like you,” he chuckles as he looks back at me. “Can I sit?”
“Uh—”What the hell is happening?“Sure?”
Matty drags the chair back, the feet groaning across the floor. He’s unfazed by the sound and takes a seat across fromme. “Getting your cooties is the least of my worries right now,” he chuckles, leaning against the back of the chair as he takes another sip of his drink.
I reach forward, grabbing mine before I bring it up to my lips. I pause, my eyes still on him. “Did you drink out of mine?”
“No,Sunny,” he says, rolling his eyes, exaggerating his new name for me. His dark hair’s a bit longer on the top, falling just above his eyebrows in tousled waves. It shifts as he shakes his head. I wonder if it’s as soft as it looks. “Even if I did, I don’t have cooties either.”
“Good to know,” I mumble, tearing my gaze from his as I take a slow sip. The bitter liquid hits my tongue and I immediately thank the coffee gods. This is exactly what I was searching for, not an abomination of sugar and caramel like whatever it is he’s drinking.
He’s silent across from me, but I feel the heat of his gaze as he scans my face, studying and assessing like he’ll be taking an exam on me tomorrow. “You come here often?”
I can’t help myself as I let out a laugh. “Please tell me that line doesn’t actually work for you.”
He doesn’t laugh. My breath catches in my throat as I meet his stare once more. “No, I mean I’ve never seen you here before. I come here almost every single day after I leave the rink and not once have we run into each other.”
The rink. He’s a hockey player. That explains the whole athletic look he’s got going on. I shrug. “I do come here often, just not normally this time of day.”
“Hmm,” he muses, lifting his cup to take another sip. “I guess we both have luck on our sides today.” He falls silent for a moment, his head nodding at my notepad. “What are you working on?”
I slide the notepad from the table, carefully closing it before I set it back down. “Are you always this…invasive?”
Matty smirks. “You have no idea how invasive I can be.”
Jesus Christ. I need to excuse myself from this table before I either clock him in the jaw or go home with him. Either feels like an acceptable response at this point.
“Look, Matty,” I start, my voice dropping lower. “I don’t know who you are or who you might think you are, but you’re more attractive with your mouth closed. You should learn to think before you speak.”
His eyes are on mine. A string of laughter escapes him, his eyes bright and cheeks flushed. “Don’t stop there, Sunny. Keep judging me when you don’t know a single thing about me.”
“What is actually wrong with you?”
“Probably a lot.” He shrugs, still chuckling. “I’ve taken quite a few hard hits during games.”
When he first said rink, that sent off a tiny alarm inside my head, but there’s the confirmation I needed.
“Hockey player is an immediate red flag.”
“Why?” He leans forward, folding his arms on top of one another, focusing on me. “You get hurt by one before?”
