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What else am I supposed to do?
He’s not giving me any choice. I asked him to meet me somewhere so we could talk, but he responded with the same curious excuses he always does.
It’s not the right time. We have to be careful.
But now I know why we’re really being careful. He can’t risk anyone seeing him out with his side chick while he’s trying to conduct a billion-dollar business deal. I’m not even that great of a mistress really. He doesn’t even meet me for late-night hook-ups like you would expect someone carrying out a passionate affair to do. All he wants to do is talk to me, ask me about my day, my classes, my mother.
Most women would be thrilled, I guess, to know their man doesn’t just want her for her body. Yet I can’t help but miss that physical connection. Even just to have his arms around me, to have him near me. Anything to reveal he cares enough to be here with me.
I didn’t sign up for a long-distance relationship with a man whose path I cross almost everyday. I didn’t sign up for an affair. I didn’t even expect a lifetime.
I just wanted something real.
“What can I get you?” the barista at the counter asks.
So here I am, back to the reality of near-stalking my pseudo-boyfriend in a coffee shop he frequents every weekend. All the names on the menu look like gibberish to me, catering to some sort of movie-theme that leaves me struggling to translate Star Wars references and Harry Potter quotes just to order a simple drink.
Where’s the one that means black coffee?
“I’ll just take the strongest thing you have,” I say finally, which earns me a cheeky smile from the sixteen-year-old behind the counter.
Great.
Somehow, I feel like I’ve just signed over my soul for a taste of whatever caffeine-infused brew they hide in the back for unsuspecting customers.
“Aly?”
Speak of the Devil himself.
I turn to face Zach, not surprised by the look of disappointment coloring his features. His eyes flick to the barista, who he signals with a tight shake of his head. He takes my card from the girl and hands her his own instead. “I’ll have the same.”
The barista’s light eyes roam up and down the length of him, flashing with something mischievous and daring. She bites her lip all while ringing up the order.
I’m seriously right here. There’s no way anyone could mistake me for his sister.
“Are you sure?” I ask once she walks away from the counter. “I’d say from the look on the girl’s face, I just ordered something guaranteed to wake the dead.”
He chuckles and hands me back my card. “You just ordered a blonde espresso.”
“Oh.”
Our eyes hold one another, trying to convey secrets neither one of us truly understands. My heart pounds simply being near him again, sparking to life like a puppet being yanked at the strings. He must know how much I’ve missed him. All my tortured emotions feel plastered across my face. I could be wearing a bright neon sign that says, “Take me. I’m yours,” and I still wouldn’t be more obvious. But his features are a wrap of longing and concern that tugs tighter at my heart.
Is he happy to see me at all? Or is it just as much of a torture for him to be beside me again?
“What are you doing here?” he asks, suddenly.
“Getting a cup of coffee. I mean this is a coffee shop, so...”
“We both know you’re not here for the coffee.” He waits for my shifting gaze to come back to him before adding, “You saw the article, didn’t you?”
I smile wryly.
A soft chuckle brushes past my lips, against my will. “She’s beautiful. When’s the wedding?”
“Aly, it’s not what you think.”
“It never is.”
