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Sophie
The next four dayspassed in a blur of coffee and Christmas carols. My shifts were from open to close - 10 am-8 pm, one hour shorter than X’s. I didn’t mind the ten hour days. I’d worked plenty of them in the factory, and the pay was good enough to make it worth it. Plus, it was just a fun freaking job. The customers seemed to like me well enough, and I’d gotten the hang of things quickly, which I was relieved by. X had, after our bumpy start, actually turned out to be a really good coworker and trainer. And the last thing I wanted to do was slow him down or get in his way. In fact, more and more, I found myself wanting to prove myself to him. And not out of some sense of competition or pride, but because I wanted him to think well of me. I wanted his respect, even his admiration, if I could get it.
I want more of his hands one me.
He hadn’t touched me again after taking my hands that first night. It had been such a strange and unexpected move for the hulking Chimera, an alien warrior whose body was primed to kill. But he’d grasped my hands so gently, like he was scared he’d crush them.
Fucking pathetic.
Not going to lie, when I’d realized he was talking about my ex, I’d gotten a weird thrill at his words. The way he’d said it was an echo of what he’d said after that guy had almost walked into me – sorry excuse for a male. Like these men weren’t even worth a second glance. Weren’t worth an ounce of my sharp human pain.
But what is he worth?
As the last day of my work week drew to a close, I eyed X from the side. My eyes slipped over the clench of his muscles beneath his crisp white shirt as he poured steamed Terratribe 2 goat milk into espresso sweetened with honey. I shifted closer, unable to help myself. When there were lulls in the customers at the window needing my attention, I loved to watch him work. His heavy brow remained so low over his focused eyes. And his gigantic clawed hands moved with more grace than should have been possible. I shook my head, half in disbelief, half in appreciation, as I watched him form a delicate leaf with the milk in the espresso.
I grabbed a lid for the cup, and reached back for the cup just as he handed it gingerly to me.
“Careful,” he said, as he did every single day, it turned out. “It’s hot.”
I chuckled, snapping the lid into place and handing it to the woman waiting, who thanked me before walking away.
“Did you know you say that to me every day?” I asked. “I was hoping you’d seen that I was a quick study by now.”
I leaned back against the counter, my fingers pressing into its smooth surface, looking at him. He turned to regard me with a questioning gaze.
“Do I really?” he asked, looking so honestly surprised and confused that I burst out laughing.
“Yes! You do! At least three times a day, sometimes more!” I furrowed my brows, deepening my voice into a comically stupid version of his. “Careful, it’s hot!”
“I don’t sound like that,” he grumbled, grabbing a spare rag and wiping at a wet spot on the counter. I swore, this guy was a freaking workhorse. Whenever there was the tiniest lull in customer action, he immediately jumped into some other task. As if he didn’t know what else to do with himself.
“You totally do sound like that,” I cackled, hunching with the force of my laughter. I sighed, still laughing a little, then straightened.
Not wanting to look lazy, I grabbed a rag, moving to his side of the counter to help clean up. I scrubbed at a particularly sticky spot. As we worked on the counter in the narrow space, him at one end and me at the other, we inevitably moved towards each other as we worked. His huge arm brushed mine, and an electric current ran from my elbow to my shoulder, then went right to my spine, making me gasp. Which was fucking crazy, to be fair. Gasping from a guy brushing against my arm. But there was something raw and carnal and intense about X that I couldn’t deny I really, really liked. And there was more to him than that intensity. I’d gotten a glimpse of it when he’d held my hands that night. Something touching. Maybe even kind.
But he’d made no other move to touch me.
Probably because he knows doing so would be insane.
I’d given him no indication that I wanted anything more from him than a working relationship. But more and more, I was wondering if I should be giving him some kind of indication. Because I was definitely starting to feel some kind of way about the brooding Chimera soldier-turned-barista.
OK, yeah. I was definitely attracted to him. I’d gotten used to his face and alien features now, and had grown to appreciate them in a whole new way the past few days. And it was more than just a physical thing. I wanted to know things about him. Whatever he had to give.
Huh, a deadly alien warrior isn’t exactly an open book. What a shocker.
X’s arm brushed mine again, and I bit my lip. I was getting way too into this little touch, the only one I’d had since he’d held my hands. When he helped me tie my apron at the beginning of each shift, it was like he was extra careful, painfully so, not to touch me beneath the straps. The past two days, I’d even found myself leaning back slightly, my skin searching for that touch.
“If I say that,” X suddenly said, his eyes focused on the counter as he scrubbed. “It’s because I don’t want you to get burned.”
I stopped cleaning, turning to look at him. There was a deep, raw edge to his voice that made heat bloom between my legs.
“X,” I said. I wanted him to look at me instead of at this now-perfectly-clean countertop. When he looks at me, what does he see? I wondered. A pretty average Terratribe girl. Nothing particularly special about me. Not that I was insecure or anything. I liked my face and hair and body well enough, and I knew that my strength and optimism were good points about me. But compared to one of the best-known killers in the universe, how did that stack up?
I was shaken from my thoughts by a patron at the window.
I hurried over, smiling at the man waiting there. He smiled back, running his eyes from my face down my body and back up again. I couldn’t deny that I’d seen X do the same thing when we’d first met, but I hadn’t felt icky about it when X had done it. With this guy it felt... gross.
“You’re new,” the man said, leaning on the countertop, getting into my space. I smiled politely, taking a small step back.
