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He so is.
“I bet you he’ll be back before the end of the week.”
I laugh. “I bet you I never see his face again.”
“Deal!” She laughs before bouncing over to serve the next customer.
CHAPTER TWO
The rest of the week goes by in a mixture of long days at the coffee house and nights spent discovering all the crazy things Boston has to offer. Long gone are my nights of staying in after a hard day’s work, especially with Carla as my tour guide. She’s made it her life’s mission to ensure I get the full city experience.
Last night we went to a silent rave at an abandoned warehouse in one of the industrial parts of town. It was such a riot, and having the music only being pumped through headphones is genius. No yelling your drink order at bartenders or struggling to hear what the other person was saying, and when I needed a break from all the noise, all I had to do was take the earphones off. Absolutely my kind of party.
However, we didn’t get home until shortly before dawn, and we were both on the early shift this morning. So by the time the lunchtime rush hits, I’m fading and desperately need a power nap.
“You owe me a bottle of tequila,” Carla says smugly, a smirk on her face as she lifts her chin and gestures toward the door.
My lips part on a silent gasp as I turn and find Mr. Irish Wet Dream standing at the back of the queue. He smirks when he catches me staring, and I hastily duck my head.
“What the hell is he doing here?” I hiss, staring wide-eyed at Carla.
“Well, I don’t think he’s here just for the coffee.”
“I can’t give him my number!”
“If you don’t, I will. That man is fine.”
“He could be a serial killer, Carla,” I snap.
She just scoffs. “Men who look like that are not serial killers.”
“Uhh, Ted Bundy?”
“I’ve seen pictures of him, and he has nothing on Mr. Mysterious over there. Besides, look at what he’s wearing. He’s clearly rich. Hot, rich men have far better things to do with their time than murder us, little nobodies.”
“Like have sex?”
She points a finger at me. “Exactly.”
I chuckle in between taking customer orders, my eyes repeatedly flicking over to Mr. Handsome’s spot in the queue. My mouth grows drier as he draws nearer until he’s the next in line.
“Have a good day,” I say, smiling at the customer before he walks away with his coffee in hand. Left with no other option, I shift my focus to the tall, gorgeous, intimidating man now standing before me.
“What can I get you? I ask nervously. Suddenly I have no idea what to do with my hands. Do I usually keep them at my side? On the counter? Gah, I look like an idiot.
“That depends,” he purrs in that delicious accent of his. Damn, did that get sexier from the last time I heard it? “Is it going to come with your number this time?”
“Uhhh.” I scramble for words before blurting out, “I don’t give my number out to strangers.”
His smile only grows, like that answer pleases him.
“Alright,” he concedes with a nod. “Come sit with me.”
“What?” I glance around at the busy room and the short queue behind him. “I-I can’t. I’m working.”
“Do you have a break coming up soon?”
“She does,” Carla intervenes, apparently having overheard our conversation. “Right now, in fact.”
