“Slept like a rock. Just need coffee.” She shrugged and turned back to watching the baristas work.
“I hear you. Have you been here before? They have a great dark roast.”
He had either missed her attempt to brush him off or purposefully ignored it. Emmy decided she’d trade her left eye for her phone. Nothing said “Leave me alone” like staring at your phone. Where the hell was her drink?
“I’ve heard it’s good coffee,” she said without looking at him.
“Stellar coffee. I’ve been coming here for years. Do you want to grab a table?”
“No, I have to run. Busy day.”
He opened his mouth to say something else, but she was saved by the chipper barista who handed over her latte. Emmy thanked the girl, spared a quick farewell smile for Lanky Glasses, and escaped out the door.
She didn’t think she’d find a lingerie boutique right there on the corner of Quaint Avenue and Wholesome Lane—even if shewasin a romance novel where such things were often essential—but she did score big with a yoga studio that had a little storefront attached to it. Fifteen minutes later, Emmy emerged wearing a sports bra under her rubber duck camisole top, a new pair of yoga pants, and a pair of cheap flip flops. She’d had just enough funds. Any more, and she would have bought a shirt that didn’t look like it was made for a toddler. Still, this was more than good enough to get by. Now all she had to do was sit somewhere and contemplate her situation. It stood to reason that, if she’d gotten into a romance novel, there had to be a way back out. She refused to believe otherwise. Also, given that she was in a romance novel, she had a pretty good feeling she’d find a cute little park somewhere nearby.
She found one three blocks away.
Sitting on a bench that was remarkably free of bird poop and dead leaves, she leaned back and let her mind wander.
Two minutes later, she was interrupted by yet another hot guy. This one was wearing a t-shirt and loose jeans, with a worn messenger bag strapped across his body, and he looked a little harried. His phone was in his hand, but he wasn’t looking at it. Emmy wondered what therepercussions would be if she simply snatched the thing from him and ran. The phone was currently unlocked, its owner distracted, and she had a real chance of getting away before he thought to run after her. Then she could use it to… What? Call the real world? Text her sister? She didn’t even know frickin’ Will’s phone number.
“Anyone in there?”
“Hm?”
Hot Guy Number Three was looking at her expectantly. “I asked if you could give me directions to 8th Street?”
“Oh! No, sorry. I’m not from here. Just… visiting.”
“Oh yeah? Where are you from originally?”
“Minnesota.”
“No kidding? I just visited a cousin there last month.” He actually sat down on the bench next to her, all set to lengthen their conversation. “He has a lake house. What brings you out this way?”
“A sex psychic.”
“Uh… really.”
Not so glad you sat down next to me now, are ya, buddy?“Yeah, really. How about you? You went from being lost to being ready to sit down and shoot the shit with me pretty quickly. Must not be urgent for you to get wherever you were going.”
“Uh…”
He actually looked like he was short-circuiting. She was about to let him off easy, tell him she had to get going, when yet another hot guy walked up.
“Hey, is this guy bothering you?”
This one was muscular from the tip of his nose to his pinky toe. Running shorts, a white tank that was trying itsvery best to contain his pecs, and tennis shoes, along with the earbuds he yanked out of his ears, made it clear he’d been out jogging. He was looking at Lost Guy with suspicion, and Emmy found herself in the awkward position of trying to defuse the situation without appearing interested in either of them.
“I was just leaving.” That seemed safe.
“Hey, I didn’t mean to scare you off,” said Lost Guy.
“Listen, buddy, you need to back off,” said Muscular Jogger.
Lost Guy stood up. “You’re the one who needs to take a step back, bro.”
While they were amping up for a fight that Lost Guy was most likely going to lose, Emmy slipped away and darted out of the park, her flip flops thwacking the pavement in a way that would have been humorous if she weren’t terrified that the sound would draw the two men’s attention back to her. Glancing over her shoulder, she didn’t see anyone following her. She turned back around just in time to see a yellow Lab barreling toward her. Before she could gather breath to scream or curse—she wasn’t sure which would have been her first instinct—the dog had her on her ass. On the plus side—such as it was—the dog was not rabid. He’d knocked her down out of sheer enthusiasm at meeting a new person and was clearly intent on bathing every inch of her face with foul-smelling kisses, but that was the worst of it.
