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“Sounds good.”
I turn and find Tom at a table by the window. I join him. “Your cinnamon mocha will be up soon.”
“Great,” he says, “and thank you again.”
I pull the lid off my coffee and inhale the aroma from the steam that rises. “I love the smell of coffee.”
“Do you? I can only drink the stuff when it’s loaded with cream and sugar.”
“And cinnamon and chocolate,” I say.
“Yeah, that helps.”
“I like it just black like this. Been drinking it since I was a kid. This new coffee shop is even better than Starbucks, in my opinion.”
“I wouldn’t know,” he says. “They all taste the same to me.”
“Definitely not a coffee connoisseur.”
He laughs. “No, I’m not. But I can give you good bourbon any day. Or a single malt scotch.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Yuck.”
“What can I expect from a woman who likes martinis and black coffee?” He smiles.
I take a sip of the coffee, let its robust goodness slide across my tongue and down my throat.
“What are your plans for the rest of the day?” I ask. Then I want to kick myself. He’s going to think I want to get together.
“Unfortunately, I have to go into work for a few hours.”
Saved by work. “Yeah, I should work as well.”
My group chat with the five sources is scheduled for tomorrow, but I need to get my materials and questions together.
I take another sip of my coffee. It’s the perfect temperature now. It’s always too hot when I first order, so I always take the plastic lid off of it and let the steam escape. A few minutes later, it’s the perfect temperature—still hot but not scalding.
“Black coffee, please. Leave room for just a touch of cream.”
I jerk at the voice coming from the counter.
I know that voice.
Deep and husky and—
I see only his back. He’s tall, and he’s dressed in running shorts and an Under Armour T-shirt.
His legs are long, covered in the perfect amount of dark hair, and oh my God, his calves… Did he swallow a couple volleyballs?
Broad shoulders, the sleeves of his T-shirt are tight around his biceps, and—
The barista hands him a cup of coffee, and he turns—
Those eyes.
I’d know those dark eyes anywhere.
Phantom.
Hunter.
That jawline, those full lips.
And oh my God… Seeing him without the mask? He’s everything I imagined he would be and so much more.
High cheekbones, perfect black stubble, a few creases on his forehead, and a straight Grecian nose. His dark hair is slightly wavy—not slicked back like he wears it with his costume—and sticks to the sides of his face.
I gape.
I can’t help it.
His eyes widen when he recognizes me, and he heads straight for the door of the coffee shop.
I rise abruptly, nudging the table and nearly spilling my coffee. “Excuse me for a moment,” I say to Tom.
I race toward Hunter just as he’s exiting.
“Hunter!”
He doesn’t stop, but his shoulders tense.
Only subtly, but I notice.
I close the distance between us with rapid steps and touch his arm. “Don’t run away from me, Hunter.”
“I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”
“You really want to pull that?”
He says nothing for a few moments, and we simply stand there, staring at each other—he holding his coffee—about ten feet from the entrance to the coffee shop. Through the window, Tom watches us.
“I can’t lie to you,” Hunter finally says. “I don’t lie.”
“Good. I don’t want you to.”
“You were never meant to see my face.”
“Well, now I have. Does that mean we don’t have a date tonight?”
“Seems you already have a date.” He cocks his head toward Tom through the window.
“He’s just a friend. We went on a jog together this morning.”
“And I’m supposed to believe that? He’s the guy from last night, isn’t he?”
None of his business. “Believe what you want. But look at how I’m dressed. How he’s dressed. How you’re dressed, for that matter.”
“I run every day,” he says. “I already told you I enjoy running. I’m training for a marathon.”
“Are you? So is Tom. I’m not, though. I only run Five Ks at a time.”
He doesn’t reply for a moment, but then, “Don’t let me keep you from your companion.”
“Why are you doing this?” I blurt out.
Again, no response. At least not at first.
Until—
“I’m uncomfortable, as you can well see. This isn’t how I…” He rubs at his forehead, “Damn it!” He sets his coffee on a window ledge, grabs me, and presses his lips to mine.
I open for him instantly. Our tongues tangle. Yes, we’re making out, right here in public in front of Tom and everyone else in the coffee shop.
And I don’t care.
I absolutely don’t care.
Until Hunter breaks the kiss abruptly. “Forgive me,” he mumbles.
“Forgive what? Did you see me resisting?”
“I’m not good at this,” he says.
“And that’s why you hide behind a mask?”
“I’ve already told you why I wear a mask,” he says. “It’s part of the fantasy for me.”
