“Right,” she agreed, unable to keep a slight edge of sarcasm from leaking into her voice. “Because you have so little else going for you.”
“Why, Cami,” he teased, “it sounds like you think I’m a catch.”
The apples of her cheeks started to heat under his scrutiny, and she looked away, down the street toward the Starbucks. Breaking eye contact was her favorite way to regain her composure when Des looked at her like that. Like a trouble-making kid who’d had a terrible great idea and needed an accomplice:hey, Cami, wanna play?
“Lenny’s not in there.” The non-sequitur saved her from having to come up with a smooth detour away from the subject of Des’s pretty face.
He glanced over his shoulder at Sex on the Beach, tucked into the corner of the plaza. “Just Tristan today?”
“It is now. I just finished my shift.”
He turned back to her then, his stormy eyes sliding down her body to rest on the messenger bag at her hip. “And you’re going out?”
She shrugged. “Just to Starbucks.”
“Oh, great!” he exclaimed, his eyes sparking with opportunity. He made a wide, sweeping gesture with his arm as if to sayafter you. “Let me buy you a coffee.”
“No, thanks. You’ve bought me enough.” She looked away from him again, hoping to avoid whatever expression the reminder brought to his face, but she wasn’t quick enough. He started to move in the direction of Starbucks and she found herself following.
“And yet, you aren’t headed straight back home to take advantage.” He paused, giving her an opening that she didn’t take. Then, he asked softly, just for her ears, “Hey, what’s wrong? What happened?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said. “It just didn’t work out, okay? I tried, it wasn’t for me.” She was acutely aware of how her voice grew tighter and higher pitched with anxiety the longer she spoke.
Des moved closer and she stopped, took a breath. His nearness was comforting. “You weren’t comfortable with it?” Des surmised as Cami realised he had somehow steered her towards the entrance to the Starbucks.
She carefully lowered her voice to a whisper as they approached the door. “I was. I just—I didn’t—I couldn’t?—”
She saw the exact moment he understood what she was trying to say. Recognition flashed across his face, and she waited for a flicker of ridicule or disbelief, but there was none. “You couldn’t come,” was all he said. His tone was soft—not judgmental. He sounded curious.
Hearing him say it out loud had her hand raising to drag across her forehead, scrub over her face, but she could think of nothing to say.
“Okay. Don’t worry. Let’s just get some coffee and we’ll figure this out.” He held the door open for her and gestured for her to head into the Starbucks. The air conditioning washed over her, cooling some of the embarrassment that was surely turning her beet red.
“What are you talking about? It’s ameproblem, not aweproblem. Also, we’re in Starbucks,” she said, her eyes darting around the coffee shop to see if anyone was listening to their conversation.
“A Starbucks in LA,” he argued. “And I disagree. It was my purchase, I picked it out. If it didn’t work for you, I need to up my game. Why don’t you grab us a table?”
She was only too happy to oblige if it meant getting out of the line of people unable to avoid eavesdropping. She found a free table that was close enough to the corner for her to pretend they had a little privacy. She plunked down into one of the chairs, dropping her messenger bag on the tiled floor. So much for her study plans.
Des joined her, holding two iced drinks of some kind, and set one in front of her. She wasn’t sure what it was, but it had whipped cream on top, and she wasn’t willing to be picky at the moment. She sucked down two large, sugary gulps.
“Why don’t you tell me what you tried?” he asked. Very matter-of-fact, like he was troubleshooting her laptop.
She blinked, and then, too mortified to be vague, said coolly, “Masturbation, Desmond.”
The corners of his mouth twitched with amusement. “And did you... make yourself comfortable first? Did everything feel... conducive?”
She huffed. “I’m not painting you a picture, Des.” If she’d known she was going to have to provide him with detailed product review when she accepted his gift, she never would have taken it. It was bad enough that she couldn’t get herself off without objectively gorgeous men knowing about it, let alone the rest of the Sunday afternoon Starbucks clientele.
“You don’t have to.” He leaned back, spreading his hands. “As intriguing as the imagery would be, I’m not asking for my own benefit. I just thought maybe I could help. Offer some advice on setup, or maybe recommend a different toy, if that one just didn’t push the right buttons.”
As she considered his words, she surveyed the other customers in the building. No one appeared to be paying themany attention. There were three people in line waiting to order, one of whom was wearing airpods to drown out the mellow playlist coming from the corner speakers. Another person hovered near the pickup counter and picked at a pastry while they waited for their drink. A few of the other tables were occupied as well, but not by anyone looking their way.
She supposed, as long as they didn’t say anything explicit, Starbucks was as good a place as any.
“It was good. Fine.” Maybe if she pretended she was talking about schoolwork, she wouldn’t blush. She had been coding something and hit a snag. That’s all. “Everything was going fine, until it wasn’t. I don’t think it was the... product.”
It was impressive that he managed to keep a straight face as he mulled this over. His brow furrowed thoughtfully and he lifted his drink to take a pull from his straw. That curious little extension of his pupil seemed to darken the silver iris around it as he thought. Then he set it back down in the ring of condensation that had formed on the table and began to slowly spin the plastic cup in place.
