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He looks at my ticket, twisting and turning it.
He thrusts it at me. “Sure, you can,” he says with a slow-building smile.
“No. I can’t!” I throw out my hands, not caring how sexy-sounding or otherwise he might be.
He’s dirty!
“Why not?” He laughs, revealing the whitest teeth I’ve ever seen.
Okay. He might have good teeth hygiene, but I know better. “Your hands are dirty.” There! It had to be said.
He looks at his hands, inspecting them as he had the ticket. “No. They’re clean.” He holds them up to me with my ticket still in his fingers. “See?”
“They aren’t!” I drop my hands. “Just a few minutes ago, I saw you heading to that bathroom.” I point, frustrated I need to explain myself. I just want my morning coffee! “Then a few minutes later, I went in.” I sneer at his attractive yet quizzical expression. “The water was cold,” I explain as he stares blankly at me. “That means you didn’t wash your hands when you were just in there. Otherwise, the water would’ve been warm because you were running it.”
His head tilts back, and he laughs!
Yes. Laughs!
The nerve! I just called him out on his poor hygiene, and he laughs!
“My hands are clean,” he says between a charming titter. “My mother always taught me to wash my hands when I go into the bathroom. You know, ’cause I’m touching my…” He glances down at his crotch. I forbid my eyes to follow. No way! Not happening. “And.” His eyes lift to mine. “When I leave the bathroom, I wash my hands for everyone else ’cause I touched my…” His eyes slowly lower again to the area in question.
Oh no. I keep my eyes on his gorgeous face.
I’m not falling for it. I’m not looking down at his… I’m not giving him the satisfaction.
No matter how bad I want to peek.
Then again, a man comfortable with pointing out that specific area must be comfortable with it, regardless of size or competency.
He’s confident about it.
Nope! I refuse to fall for his trap.
His eyes sway back to mine. “And just to clarify the cold water situation.” His eyebrows flicker with his dashing smile. “I got a call. So I never made it into the bathroom.”
“Oh.” My cheeks burn to my ears.
His smile grows wider. “So you’re safe,” he says, holding out the ticket.
“Thanks.” I reach for it.
He snatches it back just before I can get my fingers on it.
“Who are you, anyway?” He squints, crinkling a faint pink scar under his left eye. “The clean hands police?” He looks around.
I take the opportunity to inspect his muscular arms, the way his hair lays on his neck, and the fit of his jeans clinging to his thick thighs.
His roaming eyes come back to me. “Is that your job? Do you stand around the café and ensure people wash their hands after using it? Do they pay you for that?”
“No! I don’t care if you have dirty hands.” I smirk. “I just don’t want them touching anything that’s mine.” I lean forward, nearly making contact with his obscenely sexy body to snag my ticket from his fingers.
Hearing my number called, I run to the counter, embarrassed to my bones, ready to get my coffee and get the hell out of here. And away from the tattooed eye-catcher who looks like he could bring any woman to her knees at his beck and call. Just not this woman, of course.
A large man in dark blue coveralls shoves himself in front of me. “I’ll have a regular with three sugars,” he says to the girl behind the counter.
How rude! The jerk just cut in front of me!
