AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Good for you,” I say and toast her with my mug.
With a wave of her hand, she dismisses both my well-wishes and me. “You need to get dressed or you’re going to be late.”
I look at the clock on the microwave and realize she’s right. Gulping the rest of my coffee, I ask her to wrap up my bagel and pour another double espresso into my travel mug, then run for the shower. Twenty minutes later, I’m standing on the sidewalk waiting for my Lyft to arrive so I can get to the ominously named Hall of Justice. Experience has taught me there’s a sweet spot between eight and eight thirty that minimizes the amount of time I have to spend waiting to pass through security and enter the building. It’s a narrow window, but it makes a huge difference.
Of all the things I detest about jury duty—and there are many—it’s the hurry up and wait aspect of it that irritates me the most. Hurry up so you’re not late, then wait in line to go through the metal detectors and bag search, hurry to the juror room, then wait for the bailiff to arrive and sort out the day’s docket and swear us all in, then wait and wait and wait until we’re called to a courtroom or are dismissed for the day. The juror room is always crowded, the chairs uncomfortable, and there’s always that one asshole who thinks they’re the only one inconvenienced by having to report and needs everyone to know it. Despite my resentment of having to serve, I try my best to keep my irritation to myself.
On this particular day, standing in line outside the justice building is fairly miserable. The sky is overcast and threatening rain, and there’s a cutting edge to the air thanks to a cold front that’s moved south from Alaska. I’m incredibly grateful for my travel mug, and send thankful thoughts to my bestie who is, by now, comfortably ensconced in her climate-controlled luxury bus, sitting on a thickly padded seat, blocking out the sound of other people with her headphones blasting the EDM she likes, and already busy on her laptop touching base with her team so she can hit the ground running as soon as she walks in the doors at work.
The thought makes me check my phone to see if any disasters have happened in the fifteen minutes since the last time I checked. So far so good, but the line isn’t moving forward. As I lean around the person ahead of me to try and see what the holdup is, someone blunders into me from behind and sends my travel mug sailing into the middle of Bryant Street where it’s promptly flattened by an oncoming truck.
“I’m so sorry.”
Turning, I’m fully prepared to rip this asshole a new one, but the rising torrent of invectives is cut short by the largest and bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. They’re framed by long, dark lashes, and, as my field of vision widens to take in the shoulder-length, dark, curly hair that frames a heart-shaped face accented by sharp cheekbones, a finely chiseled nose, and lush lips turned the color of merlot by the teeth currently abusing their delicate skin, the only word that leaves my mouth is “fuck.” But not fuck as in “you idiot,” fuck as in “you are the single most gorgeous human I have ever seen in my life”; fuck as in “I am going to make a total fool of myself if I keep staring at you”; fuck as in “yes, please, and soon.”
I wave my hand to dismiss the continuing stream of apologies that flow from that perfect mouth as much to stop them as to make them continue just to keep this vision in front of me. He’s breathtaking, as evidenced by the tightening in my chest that lets me know it’s been too long since I either exhaled or inhaled. When I do manage to drag air into my oxygen-starved lungs, I start coughing as an errant piece of dust lodges itself in my windpipe.
“Are you okay? Oh, my gosh. Do you need some water?”
When his hand touches my back, I swear I feel the warmth of it even through the wool of my pea coat. Every nerve ending in my body is instantly awake, aware, and sending signals to my brain that more contact would be welcome. I have to stop myself from leaning into his touch and make a mental note that I need to get out more. It’s definitely been too long if I’m so starved for contact that I’m basically perving on some random stranger trying to offer assistance when he thinks I’m choking.
I wave him off again, managing to wheeze out a few words to let him know I’m fine.
“I am so sorry,” he says again, his big, blue eyes fixed on me. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee once we get inside? Though I’m only assuming that there’s some place to get coffee, and that that’s what you were drinking. It could have been tea. I’d be happy to buy you a cup of tea, if that’s what you prefer, or hot chocolate, or—”
His eyes get even bigger—something I wouldn’t have thought possible—and he clamps his lips shut, then shakes his head.
“Sorry.” He puts his hands together, touches his fingertips to his mouth, and takes a breath. “I’d be happy to buy you a replacement drink,” he says.
“That’s not…” My voice is still raspy from my earlier attempt to asphyxiate myself, so I clear my throat. “That won’t be necessary,” I say. “But thank you.”
He doesn’t get a chance to say anything else because the line starts moving, and he gets jostled behind me by several people. I pull out my phone, and send Marney a text telling her that we need to go out this weekend. By the time I’ve made it through the metal detectors and the ridiculousness of a pat down when my belt buckle triggers the alarm, I’ve put the encounter out of my mind, and Marney has texted back with champagne bottle emojis.
Tyler
Just kill me now, I think as tall, dark, and handsome continues to stare at me, and my mouth continues to spew mindless words at him. It’s like some alien has hijacked my brain, and I’m so embarrassed, I want to throttle myself. I settle for raising my hands to my mouth, and pressing my fingers against my lips, physically preventing myself from saying another word. I take a breath and finally manage to utter a sentence that doesn’t make me sound like I just escaped from a lunatic asylum.
I apologize—again—for running into TDH and yeeting his travel mug into the middle of Bryant Street where it’s now a metal pancake in the middle of a puddle and offer to buy him a coffee when we get inside. I don’t even know if they have a cafeteria inside since I’ve never been called for jury duty before, but I make the offer anyway, and manage to sound like a normal human being. Yeah, me! TDH smiles politely but declines my offer. Before I can say another word, the line we’re standing in starts to move, and I let several people get between us so I can hide.
One guy makes a big show out of keeping his Starbucks cup away from me, and I laugh as if it’s the funniest thing ever even though I’m really dying of embarrassment inside.
Fuck. I don’t even really know what happened. I was hurrying down the sidewalk toward the courthouse and got hit with a great idea for a new webcomic. The idea just takes off, and I’m typing on my phone as fast as I can to get everything down. The next thing I know, I’m plowing into this guy’s back, his coffee’s flying through the air, and then I’m staring at someone who could star in my wildest fantasies any night of the week. Yowza! He looks like he stepped out of an ad with perfectly styled blond hair, striking hazel eyes, and a tiny mole just above his upper lip. He’s perfect, and I just about swallow my tongue before I manage to stammer out an apology, and then horrify myself by being unable to stop apologizing.
So, yeah, shrinking back into the crowd of people is probably the smartest thing I’ve done all morning.
The line moves forward at a steady pace, threading up the stairs to the entrance where we have to divest ourselves of our messenger bags and purses then step through the metal detector. I catch a glimpse of TDH who’s been pulled to the side for a pat down by a couple of guards, but don’t linger after getting my bag back.
I follow the signs to the jury assembly room and discover that, yes, there is a cafeteria in this building, but decide not to grab coffee until I understand what I’m supposed to do and where I’m supposed to be. There’s another line outside the assembly room because the doors don’t actually open for another thirty minutes. Whatever. I pull out my ear buds and sit down on the floor, pulling my laptop out of my bag so I can get some work done on the next installment of my webcomic Undercover Ops. This one is a dark mystery, though I hop genres a lot and have done everything from fantasy to queer romance. I’ve got a good following—not enough to make a living at it yet, but good enough to keep me working on it and hoping that my big break is right around the corner so I can quit my job as a graphic designer. One of the reasons I’m not too upset about jury duty is that I can possibly get ahead on my story and then work on some stickers and other fan items for my shop.
I pretty much tune everything out as I focus on my storyboards, and I’m surprised at the number of people in the corridor when my attention is roused by a woman in a uniform opening the doors to the jury room. It’s wall-to-wall people, and I barely have enough time to scramble to my feet before the crowd surges forward.
“Here, let me help you with that.”
A hand reaches out toward my laptop, but I snap it shut and tuck it against my chest panicked that someone is trying to steal my computer. For a split second, I realize I’m staring at the guy who’s travel mug I murdered, but then I’m pushed forward by the crowd, and I lose sight of him.
There’s a quick jockeying for seats in the room, and I figure out pretty quickly that some areas are more desirable than others. The back corners and end seats fill up first, as do the seats along the wall that give you access to a narrow ledge. I manage to snag one of those, though I’m not fortunate enough to be near one that has a charging outlet. People commandeer all the available ones and plug in their laptops and phones. As the room fills, I understand the rush to get inside. Space is at a premium, and all the seats are occupied in a matter of minutes. Latecomers have to stand wherever they find space.
After catching my breath, I look around the room searching for that guy again. He’s got a seat in one of the corners, his phone’s already hooked up to one of the outlets, and he’s got noise-canceling headphones over his ears. There’s also a to-go cup in his hand which he raises toward me when he catches me looking at him.
