Page 11 of His Holy Chaos

Chapter 7. Jude

I lead Jude to the parking lot behind the church, already questioning my decision. I can't believe I'm so easily convinced by those honey pleading eyes. As I unlock my car, I catch Jude's appreciative glance, the corner of his mouth curling into that infuriating smirk. Something about that expression makes my stomach tighten. Irritation, I tell myself, nothing more. Then, probably knowing that would drive me insane, he reaches into his bag and unwraps a chocolate bar, casually, making me wince.

"Nice ride," he says, running his fingers along the hood as he rounds to the passenger side.

"Please don't eat that in my car," I say, pointing to the bar, more sharply than intended.

He puts it back in his bag, but the smirk only widens. "Sorry, Daddy," he whispers, just loud enough for me to hear.

The word sends an unwelcome heat through my chest. I clear my throat. "Get in."

Jude settles into the passenger seat with a contented sigh, running his hands over the dashboard in a way that seems deliberately provocative.

"Your address?" I ask, starting the engine and adjusting the temperature.

"Oh…" he pauses, those honey-colored eyes still scanning the interior of my car, before stopping on my gaze. His eyes are smiling, that little brat. He probably knows he's charming and that he could get anything he wants with that look on his face. "I'm starving. Would you mind stopping somewhere for coffee first? I didn't have breakfast."

I glance at the dashboard clock: 11:12 AM. I have nothing scheduled until 2:00, when I'm meeting my financial advisor for our quarterly review. Still, extending this impromptu chauffeur service seems inadvisable, especially given my recent obsession with him.

But of course, I can't bring myself to let him go, so I just sigh.

"I know this amazing place just two blocks from here," he says, still going for the kill. "Best cappuccino in the city. Five minutes, tops. Pleeeease, will you let me go hungry? Because I'm really, really hungry! I woke up so early just to see you."

I should refuse. I should drive him straight home and end whatever game he's playing. Instead, I hear myself say, "Five minutes."

His smile broadens into something genuine, like a kid on Christmas morning, and again I want to kick myself for falling into those eyes.

"Turn left at the light," he directs, and against my better judgment, I follow his instructions.

The café he chooses surprises me. It's not some hipster establishment with mismatched furniture and baristas with excessive tattoos, but a discreet, elegant place I've passed dozens of times without entering. A brass sign reading "Bliss" hangs above the door.

"You know this place?" I ask as I parallel park with precision, using only one hand. I do that mostly because I see how he can't stop staring at me. I don't hate how it makes me feel.

"I know all the good places," he says with a wink.

Inside, the café is refined with dark wood, leather chairs, and low soft lighting. A handful of people sit at scattered tables, most working quietly on laptops or reading. Classical music plays. The smell is fantastic.

Jude approaches the counter, ordering a cappuccino with an extra shot and a dash of cinnamon. When the barista turns to me, I order black coffee, Ethiopian single-origin. When Jude reaches for his wallet, I wave him off and hand over my credit card.

"I'm not so ungracious as to make you pay for it."

"Ungracious," he repeats, that smile playing at his lips again. "I love your vocabulary. So prim and proper. Thank you."

I'm not sure if I'm being mocked, but something in his tone suggests genuine appreciation rather than sarcasm. We take our drinks to a corner table partially secluded behind a large potted fern.

"You're very good, you know," Jude says after his first sip. He closes his eyes briefly in appreciation of the coffee. When they open again, they fix on mine.

"At what?" I ask.

"Directing. The choir. You have this... authority that makes everyone want to please you." His fingers trace the rim of his cup. "It's compelling to watch. Maybe I am wrong about your dominance. Still undecided."

The compliment catches me off guard, despite the dominance comment. "Thank you. I've been doing it for twelve years."

"It shows." He leans forward slightly. "Is that longer than you've been in the scene?"

I lower my voice. "This isn't an appropriate venue for that conversation."

"We're just two guys having coffee," he says, amusement in his eyes. "No one knows what we're discussing."