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Not only is he the worst tipper ever but if he decides to grace you with a glance, it always makes you feel like a pointless, little snowflake. Like your existence in his closeness will be short lived.
His back is turned to me and I can’t see his face, only the dark brown, nearly black of hair of his. It’s so shiny he must have the best barber in town. The immaculacy of him makes him look like the kind of guy that would make a nineties supermodel feel washed out.
But despite his loin stirring handsomeness, Salty Suit doesn’t exactly stand out in a crowd. His features are too even, his height a good deal above average and his frame muscular and fit but nobody would mistake him for a body builder.
It’s not until you come close and get hit by those aquamarine eyes that you notice he’s not quite like the others. His eyes are such a gentle, soft color until you stare into them a little too long and notice the endless amount of power they hide. Power that my inner mermaid wouldn’t mind drowning in, because she’s a hoochie like that.
“Don’t make a big deal out of this Zee,” Dimitra encourages. “He’s just a bloke.”
“Mhm,” Roger agrees, raising his reddish brows, “a very fine, sensual, intimidating bloke.”
Dimitra snorts a laugh and even my lips curl. I can do this. I have to do this. Even if it feels like I’m sinking but I muster up some courage.
“Right,” I say with a curt nod and fling my braid over my shoulder. “Let’s do this then.”
“The coffee with low fat milk is his and the latte and muffin is for Muffin Man,” Dimitra says and I roll my eyes.
“Duh,” I say because this isn’t the first time I’ve served them. But it’s good that she reminded me because it already feels like my brain is leaking due to nervousness. I jerk, shaking my head at myself. It’s not rocket science for effs sake. Just go up to the man and do it!
Throwing a look over my shoulder, I see Roger with his arm tensely around Dimitra while she’s biting her lip as if she’s nervous too.
I knew they wouldn’t trust me!
Stopping in my tracks and going back to the counter I pour some sugar into Salty Suit’s coffee because sugar makes you nice, right? At least that’s what my aunt Miriam always used to say when someone asked her why all her husbands fatten up so much after marrying her.
Putting down the sugar bowl, I realize that what I just poured into the coffee might not have been sugar...
Salt! Shit!
I go back and Dimitra raises her brows in question.
“I accidentally poured salt into his coffee,” I mutter, making a new cup and she blurts,
“Why?”
“Because I thought it was sugar,” I hiss and now I’m getting stressed.
“Why the hell were you putting sugar in his coffee in the first place?” Dimitra says and my cheeks flush.
“Because I thought the sweetness might make him nicer!”
“Ah,” Roger nods, putting his hand on his hip. “Nothing like a pinch of that good, old Mormon wisdom.”
“I’ve already told you I’m not a Mormon,” I hoot then walk out with my tray again. The place is packed as usual and I have to squirm, because I’ve always been on the buxom side, big tush, big tits, big heart. That kind of thing.
Making my way to Salty Suit I feel a light dizziness rise in my head. I’m doing it. I’m really doing it. May the universe be gentle on me and not let me embarrass myself.
Fretfully I look back at my partners in crime and Dimitra does a calming ocean wave with her hands and she mimes,
“This is for the mermaids.”
I nod with recharged power and turn my attention to the victim. He’s not going to refuse me. How can he? You can see from afar just how loaded he is. The man screams money. And power. And grumpiness. And big dick energy...
The distance between us is getting smaller and smaller and I can smell a hint of his aftershave. Expensive, exclusive and it says that nobody can handle him.
Nobody would dare. He’s a beast trying to be civilized. And failing
And it’s possible I’m about to get eaten.
