“Here you go, Joe.” I slid him his cup. “Your regular.”
“That’s not Joe’s usual.” Blake laughed, which he did a lot. Not mean, and not exactly a clown, but he liked to joke and never took anything nearly as seriously as I did.
“It’s not?” I frowned because I couldn’t tell whether Blake was teasing or not. He was a kickass barista, pink hair and all, and he’d been here for years. He had scores of orders memorized and plenty of patrons seemed to come in simply for him.
“No. Joe? Drink hot coffee? Never.” Blake’s chuckle wasn’t unkind, but it still felt like a fist to my gut. “Not even in January. Medium blended caramel hazelnut latte with whip unless it’s pumpkin spice month. I’ll get it going. I know the blender still gives you fits, rookie.”
“Yeah,” I said weakly. Black coffee wasn’t Joe’s usual at all. He’d ordered it that first day to be nice. And me, fool that I was, continued foisting it on him every time he came in. Where was a disappearing spell when I needed one? My neck heated then my cheeks. Even my forehead was burning.
“Hey.” Joe tapped the counter after Blake turned to the espresso machine. Joe’s rumbly voice took my attention away from my intense misery, but only briefly. I’d already noticed that he tended to pitch his voice super gentle like that when I screwed up. “It’s okay. Don’t feel bad.”
“Not helping,” I muttered, then clamped my lips together so I wouldn’t make things worse. Never piss off a paying customer and all that.
“Blake’s wrong. I drink regular coffee plenty. The fancy stuff is how I treat myself. That’s all. A lot of the job sites have truly awful drip coffee, so I steer clear of that sludge. Bold Brew’s is pretty decent.”
“I made you get it. That first time you came in.”
“Made me? Trust me, people don’t make me do anything.” Joe laughed like I was fucking hilarious. And maybe I was. “You were in a jam that morning. Happy to help.”
“Yeah.” Then because that sounded like a petulant teen, I added, “Thanks.”
“Anytime.” He gave me another smile.
Nice. He was such a damn nice guy, and I’d taken advantage. I felt about as worthy as yesterday’s coffee grounds. And somehow it was worse that it was him.
Something about Joe got to me in a way other customers simply didn’t. I’d truly enjoyed thinking I was making him happy, earning compliments from him. Yet again, I’d let my inner praise junkie make a fool out of me.
“Here you go.” Blake slid Joe his perfectly made blended drink, caramel drizzle symmetrical, whipped cream a pillowy cloud, and a nutty aroma without any hint of burnt coffee. I’d get to that level. Someday.
“Thanks.” Joe let Blake finish ringing him out, but as he pocketed his wallet, he turned back to me. “Levi?”
“Uh?” I made a sputtery noise. Joe knew my name? How the— Oh. I glanced down at my chest. Yeah. That was right. I was wearing a shiny new name tag on the black apron covering my T-shirt. “Sorry. Yes?”
“You don’t have to be sorry. I appreciated how you always had my drink ready for me.”
“You could have let me try to make the real one.” I licked my lips. I sounded pouty. Bratty. And Joe would be well justified to roll his eyes at me or tell me off.
But he didn’t. Instead, his eyes went even softer as he nodded. “Yeah, I could have.”
My jaw unhinged so fast I was surprised the creak wasn’t audible to everyone in the coffeehouse. I wasn’t used to guys like Joe admitting to making mistakes. Despite the way he could gentle his deep voice, Joe had a pretty damn intimidating presence. The contradiction between his bar bouncer physique and humble attitude was more than a little intriguing.
This was a coffeehouse first, LGBTQ+ and kink-friendly space second, and the owners had all made it very clear to me that we were not supposed to ask personal questions or make assumptions about the patrons. That said, I was only human. And I’d spent a fair amount of time the last two weeks trying to figure Joe out. That he had big dick energy was a given, but he could be a hapless straight guy who’d wandered in because the coffeehouse was conveniently located. Him knowing Blake made that possibility a little less likely. So was he a Dom? Kinky in some other way? Queer?
I wanted to know. Now more than ever. Because in my assuredly tiny experience, Doms did not usually admit to having been wrong about anything. I was still embarrassed as hell about the whole situation, but as Joe headed for the doors, I was also intrigued far more than was healthy. Even if Joe were queer, kinky, and had a fetish for underemployed recent graduates with messy lives, I still knew better than to brew up anything other than daydreams.
Chapter Three
Joe
I was so ready for my weekend to start that when my phone buzzed outside of Bold Brew, I didn’t bother with a greeting. “I’m thinking pork chops on the grill, maybe with those foil-wrapped bacon potatoes you liked the other week. I can have it done by the time the game starts.”
“Can I take a raincheck?” My dad’s voice crackled.
“None of that.” Pacing away from the double glass doors, I forced an even cheerier tone. The NBA finals were on and would be the mood booster Dad needed, even if my company was not. “I’ll pick up—”
“I have plans.” Dad cut me off with a laugh that would have been sheepish coming from anyone else, but Doug Simmons didn’t do embarrassed. Ever.
“Plans?” My voice went up almost as high as my eyebrows. This was new. An early-summer breeze caught the nearby flowers in a planter, making them look as surprised as I felt.
Dad made a frustrated noise. “I don’t always need you to be my social director, Joe.”
“Hey—”
“Not that I don’t appreciate your help. I do.” He gentled his voice, exactly how I always did when I was trying to not be confrontational. “But I ran into Herb Metcalf at the market today, and he told me about a fish fry at the senior center tonight. Said he and Leslie would love to see me come out. Then I did what you’re always telling to do more of, and I said yes.”
Blinking a few times to make sure I wasn’t imagining this turn of events, I nodded like he could see me. “I do always say that.”
“So you’ll be okay on your own for dinner?”
“Yeah. Sure. I’ll figure something out.” In the year since my mother’s death, Dad had become an expert at saying no. No, he didn’t want to go to dinner with old friends or coffee with business contacts. No, he didn’t feel up to cooking. No, going to the movies or bowling didn’t sound tempting. That Herb Metcalf had coaxed a yes out of him was a stunning turn of events, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to stand in the way of his baby step back to a social life. It left me at loose ends, but I’d deal. “Have fun.”
Still slightly dazed, I headed in for my coffee fix. I was way later than usual, after the lunch rush, and the place was more than half-empty with no line. Levi and Blake were both behind the long wooden counter at the front of the store. Great. Levi had been awkward ever since Blake had let slip about my drink preference, which sucked because, for the week prior, those dimples had been the highlight of my day and worth all the bland coffee in the world.