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The same thing, just a different day.
The coffee shop on campus was continuously busy, mainly with students coming in to hang out and study as they drank their five-dollar coffees and ate their three-dollar pastries.
“What can I make for you?” I said and looked up from the register only to feel my eyes widen as Professor Goode stood on the other side of the counter.
He wore a dark blazer, and underneath that a white Oxford button-down shirt, which was a crisp, stark contrast to his jacket. Being so close to him really amplified how much bigger he was than me, with his broad shoulders and narrow waist.
He was tall and lean, like an Olympic swimmer, raw power underneath golden skin.
I stared into his dark eyes, like pieces of coal that could start a fire … and I was the one who would burn alive from it.
I stood there for long seconds not speaking, and it was only when I heard the froth from the cappuccino machine start to work that I snapped out of my haze. “Professor Goode,” I finally said, finding my voice, although it was shaky, unsteady.
“Miss Hart.”
I swore fireworks went off inside of me.
“How’s your paper coming along?”
I licked my lips and nodded. “Good.” Although that was a lie. I hadn’t even started it. He smiled, just the corner of his mouth tilting up as if he knew I was lying.
“Good. I look forward to reading it.”
I gave him an awkward smile. I could feel how uncomfortable it was, my own nerves making me act like a freak right now. “What can I get for you?” Being professional when all I wanted to do was wrap my body around his, was like living in literal hell.
“Just a black coffee.”
Not a man who likes the fancy, frilly drinks. I liked that about him. And the fact he was drinking a strong brew this late in the afternoon made me wonder if he had a lot of work to do. He was a busy man, I could tell by the work he did around the campus, and the fact he had everything prepared for our class well in advance. But that drew me to him more.
He had his shit together.
I gave him one more lingering look before turning and getting his order. I felt his stare on me the whole time, as if he reached out and stroked his fingers along my body.
I swore it took me ages to get his order. I felt like I was moving in slow motion. When I finally turned back around, he was off to the side, another barista handling the register.
“I’m sorry for the holdup,” I said and handed over his coffee. When he reached for it, his fingers brushed along mine and I felt my mouth part as a small sound escaped me from that slight contact. Yet he looked unaffected.
Of course, he did. I knew it was all one-sided.
“It’s fine,” he said and offered a smile, but even when he appeared easygoing, I could see this hardness to him.
“Gracie!”
The sound of Sherry shouting over the crowd of people drew me out of my mesmerized focus on Professor Goode. I turned and faced her, seeing her make her way toward me with a mystery guy in tow.
I could see Professor Goode step back, and a part of me wanted to reach out to him.
Crazy, that’s what I was.
Sherry came up to the counter with a huge grin on her face. I looked at the guy standing behind her. He looked like a jock, one still living in his old glory days as he sported his high school letterman jacket.
“Hey, girl,” she said and turned around to reach for the guy. I recognized him then, remembering him from the library. “This is Craig. He’s going to the Olive with us tonight.”
I nodded, but I was very aware that Professor Goode was still standing off to the side, could feel him watching me.
I turned and started making her a double latte, knowing that’s the only reason she came into the hipster coffee shop.
I turned and handed it over, and she held out some money without looking at me. I shook my head at how invested she was with this new guy. After ringing her up and handing the change to her, I chanced a look at the professor. He stood off to the side, taking a sip of his coffee as he watched me over the rim.
“Listen, we’re picking up something to eat before we head over there. Figure I should have a full stomach before I start pounding down the drinks.” Letterman Craig leaned in and said something in her ear. She giggled and playfully smacked him. “You’re dirty, aren’t you?” Sherry faced me and grinned. “Don’t be late. The Olive tonight at six,” she said as she made her way out the door.
