“Where’s Jodi?” I asked again, but the dude was zoned out.
He was holding two full gallons of milk and some cups so I assumed he worked there, but I’d never seen him at The Bean Bag before. Also, he looked about my age—not that there was anything wrong with a middle-aged man working in a coffee shop. I just wasn’t expecting it. You know?
Especially not a man like him. Tall. Handsome as the devil. Built to sinful perfection.
Besides, if he’d just started working there, Jodi would have told me about him.
Him with those strong arms.
Him with that square jaw.
Albeit, he seemed a little slow at the moment, which only reaffirmed my new-found credence of: Even if a man is super sexy, that didn’t equate with super right for me. The bar I’d set for attraction was lowering by the minute, and the guy was so fine that my brain immediately disqualified him from being a viable prospect.
Because, as of that week, I was officially done with too-hot guys.
I was newly reformed, and the temptation was still strong and getting stronger. If Jodi wasn’t there, then I needed to get the hell out of the coffee shop.
My experiences with attractive men were all disasters. Let me clarify: I was a disaster. My love life—or lack thereof—was an even bigger disaster. FEMA couldn’t even help clean up my relationship status.
I was going to get my coffee and fuck off before I did something stupid—like flirt. First, I had to get his attention, but it was like I was invisible or something.
I waved my right hand higher in the air before his stupid, perfect jawline. “Hello? Anyone home?”
The guy blinked a few times at my hand, which was flapping in his face, and shook his head.
He was so tall, so lofty, and I wanted to climb him like Mount Everest.
Dana, slow your roll. You’d have better odds with the damn mountain.
I asked again, only slower, “Where’s … Jodi?”
He rubbed the ball of his cleanly-shaved chin, but still seemed confused. “Jodi who?” Deep brown eyes squinted into mine, and I concentrated on the wall behind him. I didn’t have time to be getting sucked up into some sexy brown eyes at the coffee shop.
That was the Old Dana.
“Jodi, who works here every other Saturday. Jodi, my sister.” I lifted my hand once more. “About this tall. Brown hair. Says shit a lot. Ringing any bells?” I’d already been there too long, said too much.
I’d forgotten Becca was still on the phone, and her giggle reminded me.
“Jodi. Yeah, Jodi. No. Um. She’s not here today. I’m here.” He took a few steps away and unloaded the supplies onto the counter, but his eyes didn’t leave me.
I averted his gaze. I wasn’t falling for that shit. Not anymore. Not again. Not New Dana.
“I can see that,” I said to him. Then I asked into my phone, “Have you talked to Jodi today?”
Becca answered, “No, but I talked to her last night, and Max was running a low fever. She might have called in.”
“Okay, I’ll talk to you later.” I quietly ended the call and watched the guy behind the counter through my lashes as I pretended to look at my phone, deciding if I should just get the fuck out of there without even ordering.
I needed coffee—so it was tempting to stay.
Thank the Lord, there was another shop a few blocks from my apartment. I’d go there with the hopes that it wouldn’t have a hot guy who I’d be defenseless around. I took a few strides down the side of the counter, then casually turned around. Stepping around the tables, I strolled my way to the door.
“Hey, where are you going?”
My eyes pinched shut, busted only feet from freedom. Why did his voice have to be so deep that it sent a shiver down my spine?
Because you’re shallow as fuck, Dana. You’re a hot guy addict.
“Didn’t you want a drink?”
I turned at the waist and gave him a contrite smile. No teeth. “That’s okay. I’m in a hurry anyway.” I pointed to the door over my shoulder. “I’ll just go.”
“No. Don’t,” he argued. “It’s on me. Whatever you want.”
What woman in her right mind doesn’t love hearing a fine man tell her not to go? When you add free coffee to the mix, it’s nearly impossible to ignore. Plus, it was early. I was still a grouch.
I surrendered and marched back, nearly laughing out loud because his shirt looked like most of the drinks had been literally on him. He was kind of a mess. Besides, I needed coffee, in the worst way, and was already there. What could it hurt?
The guy was slightly awkward, so maybe he wouldn’t pose a real threat to my new policy on sexy men—well, as long as I didn’t look at him.
“Okay,” I relented. “May I have a large black coffee?”
“Black coffee?” he repeated but didn’t move.
I dug through my purse looking for the few dollar bills I’d thrown in there after a cab ride I took the last time I’d used that purse. The taxi I had taken right after I broke things off with the last handsome guy—the Last Ken Doll. I was sure they were still in there.
Admittedly, I knew that all handsome men weren’t assholes. However, for me, the last three were.
Okay. Four. Okay. Five. What could I say? I had an addiction.
So I kept my eyes down.
“Well, black, but I’ll put cinnamon in it, and that’s out here.”
“I can do that,” he answered and got to it, facing away from me. Eventually, after three long, painful seconds, I gave in and looked at his ass.
Then, I bit my lip to the point of pain. Damn.
Dana, get a grip. No more hot guys. You’re on the wagon, and it’s only been a week.
When he turned around, I returned to rummaging through my bag.
“What do I owe you?” I asked, staring at the bills in hand.
“It’s free. Well, I mean just the tip,” he replied.
Just the tip? What the hell?
I hadn’t heard a guy ask for just the tip since high school.
I’d been with assholes before, but I didn’t even know this guy, and he was expecting sex in exchange for coffee? This was exactly the reason I was done with men who were too-hot. They’re dicks!
“Excuse me?” I asked, offended.
“No, no, no,” he corrected and cleared his throat. “Nothing for the coffee, but you can leave a tip—for the barista I’m filling in for.”
My eyes finally landed directly on his—which was something I’d fought not to do—and my mouth went dry.
He looked down to the tip jar beside my bag and grinned. “A tip.”
Put money in the jar, dumbass.
“You survived,” I heard from off to the side. “Oh, hey Dana,” said Trevor, the young guy who sometimes worked with Jodi on Saturdays.
The tower of a man next to the register nodded to Trevor. “The tips are his.”
I swear I was so stupid sometimes. “Of course,” I answered and slipped the bills into the container.
“Thanks again for covering for me, Cord. I think I nailed it.” Trevor spoke excitedly. What he said caught the guy’s full attention, so I picked up the coffee and decided to skip the cinnamon. Becca probably had some at her place anyway.
They were talking, and it felt like the right time to get out.
“Thanks for the coffee,” I muttered a few steps away, because I still had manners, but hoped I wasn’t heard.
Mission: Gingerly Walk Off Unnoticed failed beside the trash can at the door.
“See you, Dana,” Trevor called in my direction, but I only lifted an arm to silently wave goodbye as I took the first sip of my coffee and walked out on the street.
When I got to Becca’s, the place looked like a bomb had hit it, and I understood why she’d suggested the coffee shop instead. Not only was it convenient because Jodi was usually there, and we didn’t get to see her as much anymore, but Becca’s apartment was a wreck from packing to move.
“Jodi is going to Skype us when Max falls back to sleep,” she said as she walked back to her bedroom. “I called her when we hung up, my laptop is back here. Come on.”
I followed her down the hall, which was already bare. It looked weird not seeing all her frames lining the short hall anymore. “I can’t believe you’re really getting married.”
“I can’t believe I found a pair of nude Michael Kors pumps in my closet with the tag still on them.” She plopped down on her bed. “Wonders will never cease.”
Her lease was up, and even though the wedding was still a few months off, Becca and her fiancé, Reuben, had already bought a townhouse. They were taking the plunge and moving in together.
I shrugged out of my coat and accepted the look she gave me.
I might have technically broken things off with Cameron, the Last Official Ken Doll, but I was still wearing last night’s dress, and she knew it.
Okay. Okay. I still slept with him. For old time’s sake. One for the road, as they say.
Whatever. It didn’t change anything, and it didn’t matter. Karma avenged. I didn’t even get off, fell asleep right after, and then I ducked out before he woke up. I hadn’t even been home.
If it weren’t for the important wedding meeting Jodi and I were supposed to have with Bec at the coffee shop, I would have been in a hot shower already, scrubbing off my shame.
Additionally, I wouldn’t have run into the weird too-hot guy who I was still thinking about. Damn, I was really winning at life.
Her laptop chimed with the incoming Skype, and Becca got it set up.
“You there?” she asked and positioned it so that we were both in view.
“Yeah, I’m here,” my step-sister answered.
“How’s Max?” I asked.
“He’s fine. His fever finally broke. It was just a long night.” Even though it’s damn near impossible to look good over Skype, she looked really tired. “What are you wearing?” she asked and leaned forward to see better.
Becca cocked an eyebrow and answered for me. “Oh, she broke things back on with Cameron.” They shared a look, and it irritated me.
Jodi inquired, “One for the road, huh?”
Then, the pair of bitches laughed at my expense. I hated that they knew me so well, but it was my fault for always telling them everything. New Dana would also be keeping her lips zipped.
“Oh, shut the fuck up,” I argued. “It wasn’t even worth it.” I knew I was going to pay for it, but I had to ask anyway. “Who was the guy working at the Bean Bag for you this morning?”
Her nose bunched. “Trevor?”
“No, Trevor was gone. It was some other guy.”
“What did he look like?”
“Well, let’s see. He’s tall. Light brownish, sandy-blond short hair. Kind of messy on top. Brown eyes. Big arms. Broad, strong shoulders.” Describing him was nearly hypnotizing, and my voice sounded more and more dazed as I listed. “Great ass. Cut jaw line. Probably a pair of those fucking hip-vee-things.”
“Shit. Are you talking about the owner?” my sister asked. “Cord was there?”
The owner?
Becca shifted on the bed to look at me. “You know him,” she claimed. “Cord Taylor.”
I certainly did not know him. I would have remembered him. He was exactly my type. Well, the Old Dana type. He’d behaved weirdly though. Most of the men who looked like him didn’t act like he had.
Although, he did pay for my drink. So maybe it was just me who was off that morning.
“I have never met that guy,” I insisted. “Why would I know the owner of your coffee shop?”
“I can’t believe you don’t know him,” Becca said. “How is that even possible?”
What the hell was going on?
I argued, “It just is. Besides, how in the hell do you know him?” Becca didn’t work there, she worked with me at the college.
“He’s Reuben’s best friend.”
Uh.
“Get the fuck out of here,” I shouted and shoved her into the pillows at the headboard. “He’s your fiancé’s best friend, and you work for him? Why didn’t you tell me about him?” Through the laptop, I pointed a finger at my sister. Well, step-sister since she was being a twat. “Why didn’t you warn me?”
Becca kicked my thigh and howled into her pillow.
“Dana, I had no idea he’d be there, and I didn’t expect to call off work—I certainly didn’t want Max to be sick. I had no idea Cord would be at the shop.” She paused.
Becca reached an arm out for me to help pull her up. Apparently, giggling fits really take it out of bitchasses.
Jodi finally added. “Shit. Trevor and Mia had SATs.”
“Well, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, but I know one thing—I can’t be around him, not if I’m giving up on hot guys.”
Jodi groaned. “You’re so melodramatic. Don’t you have any self-control?”
The answer was no—I really didn’t.
I knew first hand that the Last Ken Doll had wandering hands. Before we started dating, he’d tried to let them wander on me. I was strong enough to say no when he had a girlfriend. But, when I found out he was single, and we ran into each other again, I had no defense.
Where did that get me?
After three months of seeing each other, I caught him out with another girl. Of course, he didn’t know that I saw them, but I had.
They deserved one another though. I’d since seen her with someone else too, so whatever.
The point was: I could do better than some guy who looked good but fooled around on me. For that reason, and many others, I’d decided no more too-hot guys.
Only average guys, maybe above average. No. Just plain average.
Which meant, I couldn’t be around Cord Taylor if it was avoidable. I wasn’t sure he’d ever be interested in me or if he was single, but he hadn’t been wearing a wedding ring. I only knew that whatever my future had in store, it did not include him.
“I have self-control,” I defended, weakly.
“No, you don’t,” they said in unison.
“He probably has a girlfriend anyway.” It was like I couldn’t stop. Why was I even thinking about it?
“No, he doesn’t. Cord’s a bachelor. He’s been to dinner a few times with Reuben and me, then he always goes out after, but he never brings a date. Reub says he’s a ladies’ man.”
He fit the bill. I wasn’t the only woman out on the market who had a penchant for fine men.
“Let’s drop it. He’s hot, but I’m not interested in hot anymore. In fact, the plainer the better. I’ll just make sure Jodi is working next time I go to the coffee shop.”
Becca nagged, “Who are you kidding? You won’t be able to stay away now.”
The more we talked about him, the more I thought about him, which was something I didn’t want to do.
“Whatever. Forget about Cord Taylor. We’re all here—kind of—so let’s talk about wedding shit.”
Becca’s face indicated I was missing something, then her mouth confirmed it. “Well, you’re going to have to figure it out, because Cord will be at all the wedding shit.”
There it was: I was fucked.
Wait. No. No fucking.