“No photos. I just want to enjoy my Friday night like an everyday guy.” When disappointment crosses her face, I groan out, “Fine. Just one, though. I’ve got places to be and people to schmooze.” I snatch her phone out of her hand, swipe up to clear the app she was in the process of scrolling, then jab my thumb onto the camera icon. “Smile.”
Snap.
My lips twist when I drink in the recently captured image. The flash bouncing off the waitress’s pale face and big blue eyes makes her look like a deer trapped in headlights, but I have the furled lip, angled jaw, arched brow model pose down pat. It’s a good picture. So much so, I forward it to myself so I can upload it to Matched after my date tonight, then I shift my attention back to the waitress.
It takes her a couple of seconds to get over her shock that she’s standing across from a three-time state champion, but when she does, her words come out snappier than I’m expecting. “Table twenty-three. Far right corner.”
After giving myself a moment to absorb both her abrupt dismissal and unique country twang, I inform, “I’m not here for coffee.”
I thought her husky yet still girlie voice would be her greatest asset, but the quiver of her top lip when she struggles to force it into a snarl proves otherwise. She’s extra cute when she is mad. You’ve just got to look past her mismatched clothing, uncontrollable hair,andmultiple personalities to discover that. She went from greeting me with an I’ll-be-right-with-you smile to a stare that looks like she wants to conduct a science experiment with my intestines while I’m still alive.
“Believe me,Simple Simon, I know you’re not here for the coffee.” She drags her eyes down my body, her stare more heated than the scorn she delivers her words with when she repeats, “Table twenty-three. Far right corner.”
Even confident the zap that darted up my arm when I curled it around her shoulders has short-circuited her brain, I’m more opposed to my intuition than I care to admit. So, after a wink that announces I won’t keep her from her horde of cats too long after closing, I head for the back of the almost empty café slash bookshop in hunt for a table with twenty-three engraved in one corner.
When I find it, I seek the waitress’s eyes from across the room before pointing to the chipped wooden tabletop. I can read. I know I have the right table. I’m merely playing the role she cast for me the instant she recognized me.
She’s glaring at me like I’m nothing more than a dumb jock, so I am more than happy to give her an Oscar-winning performance. Her assumption that I’m an airhead is the reason I scrolled past the sexy scientist I was matched with earlier. The last story I heard about a jock and a nerd going head-to-head resulted in my conception. That fairytale didn’t have a happy ending, and although I am the spitting image of my father, I have no intention of retelling his story.
I’ve only just dug my phone out of my pocket to check the time when the waitress arrives at my table. When she digs her hand into the front of her apron, I mumble, “First a request for a photo, now an autograph. Are you planning to take my order at any stage tonight?”
My attitude takes a massive step back when she places the napkin onto the table before covering it with a frosty vanilla milkshake. “Figured you might need a pick-me-up. Wouldn’t want you falling asleep before the job is done.”
“And a vanilla shake will do that?Right.”
She gets one over me again when she sets down a double shot of espresso. Not only is it my beverage of choice, but it also proves she knows more about me than the little tidbits I share on social media. I raved about this concoction for weeks last month, but not once did I mention it on any media site, so she’s either been watching me, or I should have checked her phone for the Hidden Watch app after logging her out of Matched.
“Thanks,” I praise, my voice nowhere near as intense as the heat racing through my veins. I’m not concerned she’s looked me up. It’s part of my unpaid job description. I’m more wondering what someone like her is doing on the Matched app. She doesn’t seem like the one-night-stand type. I’d be surprised to learn she hooks up at all.
Our eyes meet when she mutters, “Don’t mention it.” Her voice lowers to that of a whisper before she adds, “It may be the only sweet thing you’ll consume tonight.”
After hitting me with the same wink I gave her earlier, she saunters off, her hips swinging when she feels the heat of my gaze on her ass. This will make me sound like an arrogant jerk, but so be it. I’m known for my honesty. I’d be a liar if I said she has a nice ass. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying her figure has my eyes wrenching away like there’s nothing enticing to drink in. I just can’t tell if I could bounce quarters off her backside or if it is as flat as a tack. The denim overalls she’s wearing with only one shoulder fastened like she rocked up to work straight out of a ‘90s music clip isn’t doing her any favors, and neither is the super baggy shirt plumping out the outfit she should have left hidden in the back of her mother’s closet.
All she needs is a pair of white lace ankle-capped socks and teased-out bangs, and she’d be a perfect ring-in for a Guns and Roses remake. Her crazy platinum blonde locks are pulled off her heart-shaped face with an outdated hair clip, her eyeshadow is all types of a fucked-up blue, and her shoes are neither sneakers nor boots. They’re a combination of both.
She’s a goddamn mess! However, for some reason, I can’t help but smile while taking in her springy steps. She’s so comfortable in her own skin, she doesn’t give a fuck what I think about her. It’s a refreshing change from the girls I usually hang out with.
I’m so occupied mentally stripping back the waitress’s layers, I startle to within an inch of my life when my thorough inspection is interrupted by a massive pair of double Ds.
“Lenigan69?” asks a busty brunette with nipples that should come with a warning. One inch closer and I would have lost an eye!
My inward chuckle about my witty monologue hides my disklike of the nickname Terrence inputted when he signed me up for Matched, freeing BookLover21 to take a seat across from me.
“I hope you don’t mind that I organized for us to meet here. First meetings are hard.” Even with her nipples showing she’s cold, she removes her jacket, then curls it over her barely covered thighs. “Like do you just say ‘hi, come on in, let’s fuck?’ Or should you do coffee first? I always struggle, so I thought, ‘Chelsea, your sorority house is next door to a coffee shop. Take advantage.’” Her hand shoots up to cover her clearly veneered teeth when she laughs like she’s accustomed to having one-sided conversations. “So here we are. Having coffee.” Her eyes lower to the milkshake and double shot of espresso the waitress delivered earlier before she says with a pout, “Well… I’m not really sure you can call that coffee, and I thought you would have waited for me before ordering.”
With her sulk game strong, she tosses her hand in the air to summon the waitress to her side like we’re at a world-famous restaurant instead of a little unknown coffee shop.
Although disgruntled about how she was beckoned, like magic, the waitress arrives at our table in under a second. Like earlier, she isn’t carrying a pen and paper to jot down Chelsea’s order. She’s balancing a pot of boiling water, a saucer, and a porcelain cup on a tray with a box of teabags of various flavors.
“Oh, my goodness,” Chelsea purrs out with a long sigh of happiness. “You ordered for meandgot it right. Golly gosh. I don’t know what to say.”
I really wish that were true. Her voice is so high, the dogs in the neighborhood respond to it like they’re being called to battle. It’s equally ear-piercing and nasally.
When my eyes shoot to the waitress, curious as fuck to learn how she knows everyone’s favorite brew, she smiles a grin that has me forgiving her warped sense of style before she whispers, “Don’t worry, the water is only lukewarm.”
I’m lost to what she means, but like all good college stories, Chelsea clues me in only thirty seconds later. She doesn’t take kindly to my reminder that Matched isn’t a dating site. It’s for people who want to fuck. And her frustration sees her tossing her recently filled teacup into my face. The murky brown liquid ruins my shirt, but thankfully, due to the quick-thinking waitress, my face remains scald-free.
“I will have you know, my nipples may be in a constant state of erection, and I may have an inclination for sniffing soiled undergarments, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be treated like a lady!” As quickly as Chelsea’s psycho switch flicked on, it switches back off. “So please remember that during our walk to my sorority house. I don’t want my sisters thinking poorly of me.” After placing down two crisp one-dollar bills onto a check more than six times that amount, she nudges her head to the front of the café. “Shall we?”
