THE COFFEE SHOP IS EXTRA busy this morning.
It’s Friday and it seems everyone is vying for their caffeine fix all at once. I haven’t stopped serving Black Sabbath’s or Beads of Pearls all morning. Those are two of the signature blends served at one of the oldest cafes in the city. It’s what Jo Jo’s is famous for. An espresso-like dark roast and a blonde roast that rivals Starbucks.
“Miss!” One of my customers shouts at me from across the room. “I need some more cream, please.”
I nod, acknowledging her as I set down two cups of coffee and a chocolate chip scone to a couple heavily engaged in their cell phones. I have been working at Jo Jo’s since I started at NYU five and a half years ago. I have one semester left before I complete my M.A. in music.
I drop my tray heavily on the service station counter getting Philly’s attention. He’s the manager and my best friend since as long as I can remember. His family owns the place so it was easy to score a job.
“Cream, please.”
Philly cracks a perverted smile.
“Not that kind.” I roll my eyes. And I don’t think the lady at table six would appreciate any practical jokes. He glances over at the woman sitting by the window. She’s dressed casually but impeccably and has yet to reveal any capability of emotion. If I had to guess, her facial muscles have been Botoxed into submission.
I see the type all the time. Jo Jo’s is right on the border of midtown and uptown, so we get a variety of customers.
“One extra cream,” Philly places a small bowl with creamers on my tray. “And one Assassin.”
“‘Bout time. I was starting to wonder if you were sleeping back there.”
“Ha-ha. You try keeping up with the morning rush minus one barista, who is totally fired by the way.”
“Yeah.” I curl my lip pretending to feel sorry for him. “That’s why I work on this side of the counter. Less stress, better tips.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He swipes his towel at me. “I can always promote you and force you to work back here with me.”
“You could,” I sing, lifting the tray. “But you won’t. Remember what happened in high school when we tried to work the kissing booth together?”
“Yes.” He grimaces. “All the guys wanted to kiss you and not me.”
“My lips are poutier.” I make a fish face before I head back into the insanity.
You know that saying all the good ones are gay? It’s totally true. Phillipo De Blasio is tall, hot, and one hundred percent homo. Not even a little bi because if he were, I would have been all over him years ago. But alas, lady bits just don’t do it for him. It’s a total bummer . . . for the entire female race.
By the time the morning rush is over, I’m spinning in circles. The line at the register has died down and most of the tables are clear now. I almost consider plopping down on one of the sofas, but Philly frowns upon the workers looking lazy, which means break time is taken in the back. He’s so militant, and I tell him so.
“Excuse me?” I hear someone clear their throat from behind me as I sluggishly wipe down a table. “Is this seat taken?”
“No,” I turn around so the customer can sit and look straight into a pair of impish brown eyes. I freeze, stunned.
CJ smiles at me, and I forget how to use all basic motor function. I think it’s more from shock than anything else. We haven’t spoken in six months. Not since Kayne and Ellie’s wedding—not since the amazing four days we spent together after the wedding. A reel of explicit images and a rash of sensations hit me all at once.
CJ’s smile dims, and his eyebrows crease. “Not happy to see me?”
Not happy? “Oh, no! Of course, I am. You just surprised me.” A smile bubbling with elation spreads across my face. CJ seems to relax instantly. “What are you doing here?”
“I needed a cup of coffee.” He puts his hands on my hips, and yup, that’s all it takes. I liquefy. I have missed those hands touching me. I’ve tried not to think about him, but now that he’s here, I have to stop myself from dragging him into the back and showing him where else I would like him to put them.
“You came all the way to New York for a cup of coffee?” I try to keep my composure and flirt all at the same time.
“And business.”
“Oh.” I brush some hair out of my eyes. I know I look like a hot mess right now. I’ve been running around ragged for close to three hours, and I’m pretty sure my appearance proves that. Meanwhile, CJ looks delicious in dark jeans and a gray hoodie.
“I was hoping we could catch up and maybe have dinner . . . tonight? While I’m in town.” He grips my hips a little tighter.
“Tonight?” I frown.
“You’re busy?” His expression deflates.
“I am.”
“Washing your hair?” he jokes.
“No.” I nudge him. “It’s my father’s birthday. I already have dinner plans.”
“Bummer.” He releases me, and I actually sag in disappointment.
“How long are you in town for?”
CJ seems to ponder this before answering. “Till Sunday night. Think you can squeeze me in?”
“I think so.” I step closer to him and run my hands down his chest. “If you don’t mind a late drink, I can squeeze you in tonight.”
CJ’s eyes twinkle, and it’s not just from the sun shining through the front window. “I think.” He drops his mouth to my ear. “I don’t mind waiting if it means I get to spend time with you, shortcake.”
I gaze at him with a seductive smirk. The term of endearment makes me tingle. “It’s done then.”
“Sounds good.” He kisses my cheek before he lifts his head. “I’m staying at the Towers at New York Palace. There’s a lounge in the lobby.”
“The Towers? Fancy.”
CJ winks at me. “I like the view.”
I idly wonder if I’ll get to see it. I seriously hope so.
“I’ll text you my number.” He pulls his hood up. “And see you tonight.” He flashes me a sexy smile. With that, he leaves. I watch mutely as he walks out the door and disappears into the pedestrian traffic crowding the sidewalk. My whole body is on fire—my skin, my cheeks, my thighs.
I had moved on from CJ, or at least told myself that I had. We both agreed the time we spent together was purely physical. A carefree few days where we indulged in each other and then walked away. Which is exactly what happened. When the time came for me to return to New York, we said good-bye and I got on the plane. But seeing him this morning, the memory of being together feels as if it never settled in the past. Like we were together just yesterday and the attraction is still as fiery as ever.
“Tara?” Philly calls my name. “Hello.” He waves his hand in front of my face. “Earth to blondie.”
“Huh?” I look up at him dazed.
“Who the hell was that? And did he stun you or something?”
“Stun me? In a way,” I huff. “And that was CJ.”
Philly’s jaw drops. “The hottie from Hawaii?”
“The one and the same.”
“What’s he doing here?”
“He wanted coffee.” I laugh.
“Seriously?” Philly puts his hand on his hip dubiously.
“That, and dinner.”
“‘Dinner’?” He uses air quotes to insinuate something else.
“If I’m ‘lucky.’“ I also use air quotes.
“When don’t you get ‘lucky’?” He jabs at me.
“Are you implying something?”
“Yes. If the shoe fits, sluterella.”
“I thought we were friends?” I pretend to sound offended.
“We are. Real friends tell it like it is.”
“I like sex. What’s wrong with that?” I argue.
Philly looks at me petulantly. “Nino would say nothing.”
“Nino has nothing to do with this.” I bristle.
“Tell him that.”
“I will.”
“Brave girl.”