“It’s not a date,” I muttered out loud, hoping it’d kill my nerves and still the jitters that shook my hands. “Just coffee. Hot bean water isn’t exactly romantic.”
Unless it was served while you were naked in bed after a night of being twisted in the sheets together. Not that that ever happened when I was with Jennifer. There was never any breakfast in bed or any meals eaten together in our room.
But I couldn’t think about her or the time we spent together. She was the past, and my focus needed to be about what was happening now. And what was presently happening was the fact I was meeting a man for coffee. A man who made my dick dance and inspired thoughts of his tongue in certain, intimate places.
“It’s just coffee,” I had to grumble to myself again, a weak attempt to deflate the body part that was currently dancing in my pants.
As I walked toward the building, I caught myself looking through the windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of the tattooed sax player. But when I didn’t see him, I felt panic rise in my throat. What if he didn’t show? Or figured I was going to stand him up and left before I could arrive?
My hands started to shake again, but that time it wasn’t from jitters. It was from the possibility of going inside only to not see the long-haired, tattooed man waiting for me. And only then did I admit to myself how much I loved seeing it hanging down around his shoulders as he played. And the fact I wanted to run my fingers through it should’ve scared the hell out of me, but it didn’t. If anything, it only amped up my curiosity about everything even more.
With another deep breath, I forced my hands to steady as I pulled open the door, and I was greeted with the stench of stale coffee and fried food. Before I could even look around at the shop, I felt eyes on me, and I slowly turned my head toward the right.
There, seated in a booth nestled in the back, was my knight in tattooed armor. He waited for me just as he said he would. I couldn’t stop my lips from turning up in the corner as my feet propelled me toward him.
It’s just coffee.
But could I blame myself for wanting it to be more?
“For an all-night diner, this coffee isn’t too bad,” I babbled.
Ever since sitting down across from him, I felt awkward and unsure of myself. Sure, we’d talked before, but this time felt so much different. We’d made an effort to spend time together in a casual setting and didn’t have the safety net of my car issues.
“My bandmates and I sometimes stop here after a gig if we aren’t in any hurry to get home.”
I was taking a sip of my coffee. It was piping hot, and after adding one packet of sugar, it was perfect. “I don’t even know what your band’s name is.”
Stellan chuckled lightly and leaned back against the cracked red vinyl of the booth. “It’s The Messengers.”
“Nice. What kind of message are you guys trying to send?”
“That you can enjoy jazz at any age. It’s not just for one generation, race, or gender.”
“I like it.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“You really didn’t know?”
I shook my head. “No. Mina would just say ‘the band from Saturday will be here again’.”
“Ahh. I see. Well, now you know.”
“There seems to be quite a bit I don’t know about you, now that you mention it.”
Stellan tilted his head to the side, causing his hair to cascade over his shoulder. “Such as?”
I shrugged and stared down at my coffee. His eyes were so penetrating, and I felt out of my league, so much so that my hands had the familiar tremor in them. I wrapped both tightly around my mug as if it’d fly away if I wasn’t holding it down. Besides, was getting to know each other proper coffee etiquette? I hadn’t done this in so long that I felt like I was in over my head.
“Well, like your last name for one thing. All I know is that your name is Stellan and you don’t suck at playing the saxophone.”
“I appreciate you noticing my non-sucking skills when it comes to music. However, there are certain things that require major sucking. And I’m good at those, too.”
My face flamed, and I was glad my head was dipped. “Right. Well, you definitely have skills with your instrument.” Fuck me, why did that sound so suggestive?
“And fixing cars,” he added, and since I still wasn’t looking at him, I could hear the smirk in his voice.
“Oh, and fixing cars.”
“As for the rest, isn’t that the point of hanging out together, even over coffee? Getting to know each other?”
“Is that what this is?” I asked, risking a glance at him.
His eyes were warm, but there was a gentle blaze that started a slow burn in my belly, and I had to shift in my seat.
“Me trying to get to know you better? Absolutely.”
“But why?”
“Why not?”
“Because you could have your pick of anyone at Clancy’s—or any bar—and yet you’re here with me.”
“And what does that tell you?”
“That you’re either a glutton for punishment or got shut down by someone else.”
“There’s also a third option.”
“What’s that?”
“I like you and wanted to spend more time with you, outside our jobs.”
My mouth felt dry and my throat raw. I stuck out my tongue in an attempt to moisten my lips, and he didn’t bother to hide tracing the movement with his eyes.
“You like me?” I heard myself asking.
“I do.”
“But you don’t even know me,” I stupidly reminded him.
“Which is why I invited you for coffee, so I can get to know you.”
“I’ve never done this before,” I admitted.
“Had coffee with someone?”
I shook my head. What would he think once I told him? Would he run away? Or decide I wasn’t worth his time? And why did I suddenly want to be worthy? Hadn’t I told myself that I needed to focus on getting back my own two feet, so there was no time for anyone else in my life? And yet, for Stellan, I was willing to make time for him.
He still hadn’t told me his last name, and yet there I was wanting to throw myself across the table and beg him to take a chance on me when I had no idea what that’d even entail. Huge life-changing decisions like that shouldn’t be made over coffee while your brain was fueled by lust, yet there I was ready to sign on the dotted line. All I needed was a pen.
“No,” I said softly and averted my eyes, “b-been with a m-man.”
Stellan was so quiet I had to force myself to look at him. I expected to see annoyance, anger, or worse—disinterest. But none of that was on his face. Yes, there was a bit of shock, but something else stood out more than anything else. Intrigue. Like I was a challenge he was about to accept…if I gave it to him.
“I see. I was curious if that was the case, since you didn’t flirt as much with the men as you did the women.”
I bit the inside of my cheek before I commented. “I only do that for tips. I’m not interested in anyone except…” I trailed off.
“Except me?” he asked bluntly.