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I ask him to take me home, and he obliges, but I still fall asleep wishing his arms were around me.
I still wake up lonely.
* * *
I take a long sip and let out a soft moan.
Almost perfect.
Just a little more simple syrup.
There.
Ahh.
That's exactly it.
I press my lips together to stifle my moan. It's Sunday. In Brentwood, that means families everywhere. As in no moaning like you're trying out for a phone sex hotline.
Oh, baby, yes, just like that…
It's disturbing how well my thoughts of sugary cold brew line up with dirty talk. Maybe that's my new part-time job. Sipping coffee and moaning is already a huge part of my routine…
Okay. That's true. But the thought of strangers filling me in on their fantasies? Not so appealing. Not unless they're Walker.
Only he isn't a stranger anymore.
He's a…
A something.
I nearly skip back to my seat. The magic powers of caffeine and sugar combine to bring me to life
. My thoughts get sharp. My attention fixes on the task at hand: tackling this chapter on making sense of outliers.
Data. Stats. Studies. I can do this shit.
After a round of highlights, I go through the chapter again. This time, I make my own study guide. A bullet point for every important piece of information. A short summary for every section. A little bit of extra flavor for the chapter summary.
I go to suck iced coffee from my straw, but my drink is empty.
It's already late afternoon. More caffeine is a bad idea.
I get in line anyway. The guy in front of me is tall. Tan. Broad. He looks up from his cell phone and smiles at me.
He's just like Ross. Clean cut. Business casual outfit. Work hard, play hard. The type who uses to get through his meetings then to unwind after them.
I smile back. He's cute, but he doesn't make my heartbeat pickup or my stomach flutter. He's just so… plain. Uninteresting. Not like Walker with his dark eyes, and his strong shoulders, and the tattoos that snake down his arm.
Ahem.
Business guy steps forward to order his nonfat latte. He turns back to me and winks.
I smile back. That seems like the proper protocol. Or something.
"A refill, please." I place my cup on the counter and fish two dollars from my wallet. I use one to pay and stuff the other in the tip jar.
The barista smiles back at me. "I love your hair." She picks up my glass. "I've been thinking about that cut."
