Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111610 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
If the barista behind the counter would actually take my order.
“Bruh, are you lost or something?” He chuckles as he looks me over.
Admittedly, I don’t look like anyone here. I’m wearing the leftovers of my daily suit—navy slacks, blue button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, brown loafers, and a Patek Phileppe on my wrist.
On the other hand, the barista has black, jagged-cut hair and smeared eye makeup that crosses the bridge of his nose, where a silver barbell rests. His T-shirt has a Lucifer-esque image and is layered with a leather harness vest, his black jeans are more shredded than ripped, and when he walked over, I saw that at least five inches of his impressive height are from the platforms on his boots. His name tag reads ‘Syd’ and has a middle finger sticker.
In Oblivion Coffee, I’m the odd man out.
I lean in, answering just between the two of us and hopefully creating some sense of fellowship so he doesn’t sacrifice me right here on the counter to the Coffee Gods. “No, meeting a friend. She said here, and to be honest, I’d go wherever she asked me to.”
“Bet. What’re you drinking today?” he asks flatly.
Alright, calling that a win because at least he’s willing to take my order. “Large black.” I’m keeping it simple, though a twisted part of me wants to order something sugar-laden and whipped cream-topped to see if the barista’s head would explode. “Need a name?”
“Nah,” Syd says, clearly amused that he might have trouble finding me when my drink’s ready. “Gotchu.”
With that declaration, he spins on his booted foot and stomps away as I tap my card to the machine to pay, praying that my black coffee won’t be as bitter as Syd seems.
Sitting down, I drum my fingers on the cold metal of the table and watch the door, impatiently waiting for Samantha. I need to make sure she’s okay after the stunt Anthony pulled.
And after you basically ghosted her after the Rico Rollout.
That’s not true. She said casual, and we’re both busy. I didn’t want to be pushy.
Arguing with myself isn’t getting me anywhere, and when the door opens and Samantha walks in, my mind goes completely blank in an instant.
She’s stunning in a summery white dress with red polka-dots that she’s paired with high-top yellow Nikes, gold necklaces that lay over her cleavage, and a straw bag with woven sunflowers.
I’m embarrassed that my first thoughts are filthy—bending her over a table, flipping the full skirt of her dress up, and taking her. I can imagine the silky feel of her skin, the sweet taste of her pussy, and the spark in her eyes as she falls apart around me still in her tennis shoes.
I mentally slap myself.
Is she okay? That’s what’s important. Her knee, Anthony’s behavior, us.
As she walks my way, her hips swish back and forth, hypnotizing me. But her smile isn’t for me, it’s for Syd as she waves at him.
“Hey, Samantha, usual?” he asks. He doesn’t smile back, but there’s a light in his eyes and an energy in his voice that certainly wasn’t there when he helped me.
She nods, then sets her sights on me, and I stand to pull her chair out. “You look gorgeous,” I say by way of greeting.
“Thank you.” She sits primly, smiling at me. “I was surprised to hear from you. Is this some sort of ‘don’t call too soon or she’ll think you actually give a shit’ deal?” Blunt. Bold. Confident as fuck.
I like it.
“Not at all. I was trying to respect your wishes for casualness, but truth be told, you’ve been on my mind a lot. Forgiven?”
“There wasn’t an apology in there.” I open my mouth to speak, happy to apologize if that’s what she wants, but she holds up her hand. “Nor do you need to. Just trying to see where you’re at. So, what’s up? You said this was an emergency.”
The easy acceptance of my explanation is a surprise. I guess I expected her to give me a harder time even though she said she was fine with no strings attached. Her unpredictability delights me at every turn.
“Straight to it, but first . . . how’s your knee?”
Her brows lift. “It’s fine. Was sore for a day or two, but all good now.”
“I’m glad.” I pause, knowing the next part won’t be so easy. “We had an incident at the club today. One that involved you.”
“Me?”
Before I can explain, Syd appears tableside. “Samantha, a cinnamon roll and espresso. Suit, coffee.”
“Oh my gawd, thanks, Syd. This looks sooo good,” Samantha purrs as she swipes a finger through a drizzle of icing on the plate and sucks the sweetness from her finger.
Both Syd and I watch her unintentionally sexy move with a hunger of our own. I clear my throat, and he cuts his eyes my way before returning his gaze to Samantha. “Let me know if you need to sneak out the back.” With that, he goes back to the counter.