“Okay, I’m gonna go.” I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“Can’t wait to hear all about it!” Viv singsongs.
“There will be nothing to hear about!”
I end the call, and my stomach does a small anticipatory somersault as I haul open the tinted door to Bean & Brew. The aroma of freshly ground coffee beans welcomes me. Today's warmer weather called for a deep-pink pencil skirt matched with a cream-colored sleeveless blouse. I often prefer wedges over heels, but I chose the nude three-inch heels today.
To prove I wasn’t trying to look my best, my glasses are on and my hair is in a low knot at the nape of my neck. Icertainlycouldn’t care less what a particular man—who occupied the corner yesterday morning—might think of how I look. If I had,my hair would have been in a high, tight ponytail to accentuate my neck, and I’d have worn contacts instead of my glasses. This is, at least, what I tell myself.
I scan the coffee shop because this is a normal, everyday thing for me to do, not because I’m looking for anyone in particular.
I don’t see him though. A couple of guys with man-buns and beards occupy the area where he sat the day before.
I’m not disappointed. I didn’t get dressed for him today. Besides, I didn’t really want to see him again because I’m busy and just… don’t… have time.
My phone vibrates in my purse. Viv’s face lights up the screen.
“Seriously? We just got off the phone two minutes ago.”
“I just talked to Cori. She has mono.” Her tone is dismal.
“Mono? Like the kissing disease kids got in high school? That’s still a thing?” The line at the counter moves another step forward. Before I know it, I’m at the counter, signaling to Claire with my fingers how many coffees I need so as not to interrupt Viv’s recount of her conversation with Cori. She’s officially out sick, and not just for a few days—we’re talking weeks.
Not ideal, but we can make this work.
I step off to the side of the counter, but my high heel snags on the rug's fringe, sending me backward.
Oh shit!My arms are flailing, my phone goes flying, and in an incredibly ungraceful way, I crash down on the polished hardwood floor flat on my ass.
On any other day, I’d scramble to my feet as quickly as possible, but the pencil skirt has me trapped. I roll to the side and scoot my knees under me, so I’m on all fours.
Very graceful.Facing the floor, I take a quick inventory of the situation. My glasses are askew, my hair has come loose, the cell phone I was holding is on the floor somewhere, and my purse is lying on its side just out of reach. My ego is a little bruised, but it could be so much worse.
“Need a hand?” A voice reaches out, sending a burning warmth through my chest like a shot of whiskey. It’s a little rough around the edges, and without even needing to look, I know the owner of this voice is none other than Coffee Shop Hottie.
There it is. Things just got worse.
“Oh my God,” I whisper as embarrassment washes over me. Flustered, I use one hand and reach for something, anything, to pull myself up.
I grip thick fabric and close my eyes, trying to gain composure as I tug myself into a kneeling position. When I open my eyes, I’m face to face with this man’s impressive crotch.
I freeze, eyes wide, glasses still crooked.
I suck in a breath through my nose and catch the familiar scent of oak and butterscotch. The combo is intoxicating, and my eyes drift closed again. But I still have my hand planted on his wonderfully muscular thigh, and when that awareness takes hold, I yank it back with a gasp. A soft chuckle rumbles as his large hand, calloused palm up, comes into view.
Reluctantly, I reach for it. His grip is gentle but firm as he pulls me to my feet with little effort, holding my hand until I’m steady.
“Easy there, Trip.” His voice coils around me, heating me from the inside out.
Yup, this is a voice I’ll be dreaming about for the foreseeable future.
“I…” I straighten my glasses and tuck a loose lock of blonde hair behind my ear. I look up through my lashes, pretending I’m not completely humiliated. His eyes are not quite gray but not quite green either. Framed with long, light brown eyelashes, they sparkle with mischief as they scan my face.
“I, uh…” My voice is breathy at first, overcome with the proximity to such a physical specimen with whom I just made an intimate connection via his crotch.
Hang on a minute…
“I’m sorry, what did you call me?” I can hear Viv yelling my name through the phone from somewhere on the floor nearby.
