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Damn him, he looks as gorgeous as usual. Smarmy and arrogant and sexy.
Arms crossed.
Eyebrows raised.
He’s right behind me, a line of three other impatient people snaking out the door.
I spin back around to order my iced coffee without saying a single word to him. Except they don’t sell iced coffee in Europe, according to the barista.
It takes several minutes to haggle a latte and a cup of ice. Those minutes feel more like an hour thanks to the self-assured athlete standing right behind me. Personal space or manners seem to be foreign concepts to Beck. The former faux pas would be a lot easier to enforce if my own body didn’t enjoy the proximity quite so much.
I step to the side so he can order to his own drink, fiddling with the display of granola bars next to the register. There’s the same pulsing sensation resonating inside me I experience when I haven’t exercised; like a caged animal. Except, I already went for a run this morning.
As I study the list of ingredients on one bar and listen to Matthew Jr. gurgle, I eavesdrop on Beck’s conversation with the barista—well, on the tone of it since I can’t actually understand a word of the German they’re speaking. I guess she didn’t spot him hovering behind me before because she’s a shocked, fumbling mess now.
It sounds like he has to repeat his order three times, during which she drops five cups. I think she’s going to faint when he hands her his credit card and their fingers brush. And yes, I’m the weirdo studying their interaction that closely. It takes longer for Beck to order than it took me to explain the foreign concept of cold coffee when it’s eighty degrees outside.
Hallie picks the phone back up a few minutes later. “Hello?”
“Yep, still here,” I say. “Did he spit up at one point?”
She sighs. “Yes. I thought you were going to hang up after a few seconds.”
“That was an option?” Truth is, I probably would have done exactly that if Beck hadn’t shown up and distracted me.
“It’s more like your trademark, Saylor.”
I prove her right by hanging up. At least I mutter a goodbye and “Good luck cleaning” first.
Beck finishes ordering and moves to the side. To my side. He’s standing much closer than is necessary, even in a coffee shop this size. He’s near enough for the distracting scent of his body wash, cologne, or maybe just his laundry detergent to wash over me. My entire body reacts to his proximity. I really need caffeine. Or anything to distract myself from the aggressively arousing aroma. Why can’t he smell like sweat and dirty clothes?
“Is this the only coffee shop in the city?” I ask Beck testily.
“No. But this is the one closest to the stadium that I always stop at,” he tells me.
“You’re on your way to the stadium?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Why do you think? I’m supposed to be there in…” I glance at the clock hanging behind the counter. “Crap. Fifteen minutes.”
“It’s not that far of a walk,” Beck drawls. “As long as your knee holds up.”
I shoot him a dirty glare for that comment. “I got cleared, not that it’s any?—”
“Any of my fucking business?” There’s a smirk on his face that makes my heart rate speed up for absolutely no reason.
“I overreacted, okay? Is that what you want me to say?” Before he can respond, I say, “Pretty sure you don’t let other players decide if you’re in any shape to play.”
“Other players? No. Doctors? Yeah, I usually take that advice.”
“Here’s your ice and latte,” the barista announces, not taking her eyes off Beck as she sets both in front of me.
“Thank you,” I tell her, hastily dumping the hot liquid over the ice. I’m down to ten minutes now.
I don’t really account for basic scientific principles as I pour. The ice crackles and hisses as the steaming coffee hits the stack of cubes before they promptly dissolve, sending the now lukewarm coffee over the rim of the plastic cup. I curse under my breath, glancing around for some napkins.
Beck’s the one who snags a stack and sticks them underneath the cup to soak up the excess liquid. The exasperated sigh he releases takes away from what would otherwise be a thoughtful gesture, but I still feel obligated to mutter a “Thanks.”
