“Do you want to save us a seat in the back while I wait for the drinks and food? They have these super comfortable couches.”
“Yeah, you got it.” I make sure to give him a smile before heading deeper into the café.
I can’t let one little comment ruminate. That’s just ridiculous. He isn’t mine or anything.
Yet.
There are a few of the C-shaped couches free, but there is one snuggled farther to the back, hidden by one of the large monstera plants, that calls to me. I weave my way through the other patrons dotted about and slide onto the couch.
I instantly sink into the insanely soft fabric. Oh my god, I never want to leave this couch. Honestly, it seems like a risky choice for a coffee shop to invest in cream fabric, though. I imagine people spill coffee on these regularly.
“You picked my favorite seat.”
Aleks slides the tray with our drinks and food onto the table, plucking the mug with my drink off and placing it in front of me, along with the plate hosting my croissant. He slides his own glass of coffee and plate to the center of the table before entering the couch from the opposite side, placing his helmet next to him. He shifts closer to the middle of the C, and I feel the couch dip slightly as he positions himself nearer to me.
“I did? Great minds think alike.”
“Yup, I like that it feels a little more private. Especially when it gets busier in here.”
He’s right. The monstera gives the illusion that we are hidden from everyone else. It didn’t even occur to me how intimate it would feel back here. But it does feel like we are in our own little world, tucked into this corner.
I pick up the gold mug, blowing on it softly before taking a sip. The nutty taste melts onto my tongue. There’s also a sweet undernote of cinnamon, and once I’ve swallowed, there is a little kick from the extra shot of espresso in the back of my throat. It’s an amazing combination. As good as my maple bourbon latte? Debatable. But it’s damn close.
“What’s the verdict? Did I bring you to a good place?” Aleks props his right elbow on the table and leans his chin into his palm while sipping his coffee with his left hand. My eyes slip, once again, to the veins running down his inner forearm. They shift slightly as he brings the glass to his lips, and the sleeve of his T-shirt tightens around his bicep. The muscle flexes effortlessly, making the small emblem tattoo ripple.
This man is going to think I have an arm fetish soon.
“I can’t give it a rating before trying the pastry first.” I tell him.
He gestures towards the croissant with his coffee hand, raising his brows.
I tamp down a smile as I tear off a piece of croissant. The pastry flakes off beautifully, like you would see in a commercial. Popping it into my mouth, I can’t help the small moan that rumbles in my throat. Maple is my favorite flavor of anything, but pair it with a fresh, high-quality croissant, and you have pure heaven.
“I take that as a positive response.”
“It’s amazing. You did well. I’d give this place a solid B-plus.”
“Ouch, not an A?”
“The latte is good but not as good as my favorite place. The croissant, though, is heavenly.”
“I don’t know. This muffin is pretty A-plus.” He peels down the wrapping and takes a large bite of the gooey chocolate muffin.
“Mmm—fuck, I love this.”
My ovaries burst a little at the noise he makes.
Is there anything this guy does that isn’t sexual?
He uses his thumb to sweep a stray crumb from the corner of his lip and sucks it off the pad.
Nope.
Everything he does is sexual.
I reach for my mug and take a massive gulp so my mouth doesn’t just hang open.
“I haven’t had this in a hot minute. Sydney, that’s the friend, has been salty with me and the guys lately and won’t bring them when she comes over. She just keeps shoving these health juices down our throats. Don’t tell her, but they are kind of growing on me.” He shoots me a cheeky smirk, and sparkles erupt in my chest. Aleks lifts his muffin in my direction. “Want to try some?”
“Sure.” I’m still drunk on the sparkles, so my mouth speaks without my brain processing.
Crap.
Why’d I say that? I don’t even like chocolate.
He uses a plastic fork to take a chunk off the muffin and holds it out to me. I tuck my hair behind my ear as I dip my head and take the bite.
The richness coats my tongue as the melted chocolate spreads. It’s not great. Way too much chocolate taste. Which is the whole point of a double chocolate muffin, so I can’t really get mad at it for that. The gooiness is sticking to my tastebuds, but I make sure to school my features.
“It’s pretty good,” I offer. I’m not going to rave about it; he will be able to tell I’m lying if I go that far.
I realize the fork hasn’t moved and look up. His deep green eyes are staring at me intently, or more specifically, my lips. They flicker up to my eyes briefly before settling back down. My body is starting to warm from the attention, and I can’t stop myself from quickly licking my lips.
“Damn.”
The word is soft as it falls from his lips.
I sit up straight, putting some distance between us, trying to calm my beating heart. I take a massive gulp of coffee, the nuttiness washing out the thick chocolate.
“So, tell me about yourself, Mr. Aleks Knight. What do you do?” My voice comes out a little breathy, and I stuff another piece of croissant into my mouth to keep from word vomiting.
He drops the fork on the table and shifts around. I catch him readjusting himself and drag my eyes away from his crotch before he sees me. It’s bad enough he probably knows I’m obsessed with his arms, the last thing I need is for him to think I’m also obsessed with his dick.
He takes a long sip of his coffee and clears his throat.
“I work with computers, which means I get to work from home most of the time. But I have a lot of late nights and long hours.”
“Really? How late?”
“I’ll be working past midnight a few days a week, even weekends.”
“Wow, that sucks.”
“What about you? What does Stevie Andwell get up to?”
“I’m an artist.”
I wait to see what his reaction is. Everyone is different. But more often than not, people look at me with thinly veiled sympathy. They don’t see it as a real job, just something I’m playing at. They think I’m childish and living out some lofty dream. “Oh, look at the little rich girl fiddling with her paints.” It’s annoying and belittling.
“Really? That’s awesome. You must be amazing at it. Do you have any pictures?”
My heart blooms, and I smile up at him, unable to stop myself.
“Yeah.” I pull out my phone and open the album I have photos of my art pieces saved in. I keep records of all my work, especially since once they are sold, I rarely get to see them again. Aleks takes my phone, and I watch his features as he scrolls through the images. My nerves begin to wiggle under my skin like worms as I wait to see what he thinks. Finally, he smiles, his dimple lighting up his face as he turns to me.
“These are phenomenal, Stevie. You’re really talented.”
“Thank you.” I feel like I have freaking heart-shaped eyes right now.