“You’ll cover for me with Kayne?” I raise an eyebrow, actually considering it like a crazy man.
“I promise he won’t have a clue,” Jett responds deviously, his eyes glittering like a pair of precious stones. I swear he gets off on fucking with Kayne.
“Well, then . . .” I smile presumptuously. The fact this trip will be covert as well as illicit adds even more of an appeal. “I guess someone is going to New York.”
THE COFFEE SHOP IS EXTRAbusy this morning.
It’s Friday and it seems everyone is vying for their caffeine fix all at once. I haven’t stopped serving Black Sabbath’s or Beads of Pearls all morning. Those are two of the signature blends served at one of the oldest cafes in the city. It’s what Jo Jo’s is famous for. An espresso-like dark roast and a blonde roast that rivals Starbucks.
“Miss!” One of my customers shouts at me from across the room. “I need some more cream, please.”
I nod, acknowledging her as I set down two cups of coffee and a chocolate chip scone to a couple heavily engaged in their cell phones. I have been working at Jo Jo’s since I started at NYU five and a half years ago. I have one semester left before I complete my M.A. in music.
I drop my tray heavily on the service station counter getting Philly’s attention. He’s the manager and my best friend since as long as I can remember. His family owns the place so it was easy to score a job.
“Cream, please.”
Philly cracks a perverted smile.
“Not that kind.” I roll my eyes. And I don’t think the lady at table six would appreciate any practical jokes. He glances over at the woman sitting by the window. She’s dressed casually but impeccably and has yet to reveal any capability of emotion.If I had to guess, her facial muscles have been Botoxed into submission.
I see the type all the time. Jo Jo’s is right on the border of midtown and uptown, so we get a variety of customers.
“One extra cream,” Philly places a small bowl with creamers on my tray. “And one Assassin.”
“‘Bout time. I was starting to wonder if you were sleeping back there.”
“Ha-ha. You try keeping up with the morning rush minus one barista, who is totally fired by the way.”
“Yeah.” I curl my lip pretending to feel sorry for him. “That’s why I work on this side of the counter. Less stress, better tips.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He swipes his towel at me. “I can always promote you and force you to work back here with me.”
“You could,” I sing, lifting the tray. “But you won’t. Remember what happened in high school when we tried to work the kissing booth together?”
“Yes.” He grimaces. “All the guys wanted to kiss you and not me.”
“My lips are poutier.” I make a fish face before I head back into the insanity.
You know that saying all the good ones are gay? It’s totally true. Phillipo De Blasio is tall, hot, and one hundred percent homo. Not even a little bi because if he were, I would have been all over him years ago. But alas, lady bits just don’t do it for him. It’s a total bummer . . . for the entire female race.
By the time the morning rush is over, I’m spinning in circles. The line at the register has died down and most of the tables are clear now. I almost consider plopping down on one of the sofas, but Philly frowns upon the workers looking lazy, which means break time is taken in the back. He’s so militant, and I tell him so.
“Excuse me?” I hear someone clear their throat from behind me as I sluggishly wipe down a table. “Is this seat taken?”
“No,” I turn around so the customer can sit and look straightinto a pair of impish brown eyes. I freeze, stunned.
CJ smiles at me, and I forget how to use all basic motor function. I think it’s more from shock than anything else. We haven’t spoken in six months. Not since Kayne and Ellie’s wedding—not since the amazing four days we spent togetherafterthe wedding. A reel of explicit images and a rash of sensations hit me all at once.
CJ’s smile dims, and his eyebrows crease. “Not happy to see me?”
Not happy?“Oh, no! Of course, I am. You just surprised me.” A smile bubbling with elation spreads across my face. CJ seems to relax instantly. “What are you doing here?”
“I needed a cup of coffee.” He puts his hands on my hips, and yup, that’s all it takes. I liquefy. I have missed those hands touching me. I’ve tried not to think about him, but now that he’s here, I have to stop myself from dragging him into the back and showing him where else I would like him to put them.
“You came all the way to New York for a cup of coffee?” I try to keep my composure and flirt all at the same time.
“And business.”
