Chapter 4
Kate
With a flick of the wrist, I straightened the newspaper out onto the table. The coffee shop was loud, and I couldn’t help but glance up every once in a while, to watch the crowd. Every person was so different. It was one of the things I’d miss about New York—the diversity, the energy of so many people doing so many different things. Or, all doing the same thing, like getting their morning coffee.
A young couple stood in line. They didn’t hold hands; in fact, they didn’t do anything that made them look like a couple. It was an energy about them rather than any physical contact or how they were turned toward each other. That energy was something I wanted with a man.
When I pictured that man, he looked something like the guy I’d “rescued” yesterday, right here in this shop. Maybe I’d meet a man someday who would have that energy with me. Maybe he was waiting for me in San Diego. I smiled for a second and glanced back down at my paper.
I loved indulging in a fresh issue of the Times while sipping from a nice cup of coffee. But instead of the Times, I had some random no-name paper, given to me by a homeless man just down the street.
It was all about urban America, mostly pop culture. Not really my thing, but I couldn’t exactly say no to the guy. When he’d asked me for a couple of bucks in exchange for a newspaper, I’d figured what the hell.
Besides, now I had something to do with my morning. Rather than rush back to my dad’s place and feel stifled by his expectations, I could sit down, look interested in a newspaper, and take even more time for myself. Maybe the antics of the latest Hollywood breakup weren’t interesting to me, but they were a hell of a lot more interesting than one of my dad’s lectures.
As I pulled my cup to my lips and looked over the top edge of the paper, my gaze fell on a very familiar back and overcoat. The man’s sandy blond hair was still styled just as perfectly as it had been the day before.
His fidgeting was just as bad as it had been, too. Poor guy—he really needed his fix. I giggled under my breath. Should I even bother trying to talk to him again? He wasn’t on the phone. And he was super gorgeous.
But at the same time, he hadn’t seemed very interested in me yesterday.
I wasn’t sure why I was so interested, myself. I had San Diego and a teaching job waiting for me. In six months, I’d be out of here.
I went back to my paper, pulled into the drama of Philip and Jenna’s divorce. I couldn’t remember who Philip and Jenna were, exactly, although one of them looked vaguely familiar. Who paid attention to this stuff? I could barely manage the drama in my own life. Still, the more I read, the more captivated I became with their accusations of trysts and drug abuse. I automatically took sips from my coffee cup as I fell further into their world.
I was in the middle of an anecdote of how Philip had hired a private detective to spy on Jenna when a deep voice interrupted me.
“Hey,” he said, and immediately my head snapped up.
There he stood, the gorgeous wallet-forgetter, staring down at me and smiling.
“Hey,” I smiled back, hoping I didn’t have mocha stains on my upper lip.
“I wanted to at least stop and say hello,” he said. There was something in his eyes. It was almost like he was happy to see me — surprised and happy.
I almost scoffed at that realization. I’d seen that intense kind of eyes before—on pretty much every single undergraduate male I’d ever met. Those were the eyes of a player on the game.
Somehow, I’d become prey, or a ball, or some other stupid thing in my own ridiculous metaphor.
“I’m glad I saw you as I was heading out. I’m actually not late for work today, and my asshole company VP isn’t around this morning, waiting to pounce.” His smirk could tell stories, and probably melt panties. It was beyond obvious that he was used to using it to his advantage. I had to wonder, though—if the Vice President of the company was harassing him, just how far up he was in his company.
Not that I really cared, but it was interesting considering how young he was.
“So, why have I never seen you before?” he asked, just before unbuttoning his suit jacket, and sitting down in the chair just in front of me.
I looked at him in confusion. Why was he asking that? “Well,” I said, trying not to sound snotty, “probably because there are over eight million people in this crowded city.”
“No, I mean, I’m here every day, and I’ve never seen you before.”
“A lot of people come here. You can’t possibly know every single person who does.” I grinned. “Or maybe you’ve just alienated everyone else by sitting at their tables without asking.”
He grinned back. “Oh, you think this is your table? You own this Starbucks?” He looked over his shoulder, and then all around, just before looking back to me. “Color me impressed.”
Maybe he was an asshole — but I could also truthfully say that I didn’t mind it. He was probably an asshole in the best way possible.
“Maybe I should color you not at my table,” I said, pulling up my newspaper to create a barrier between us. I wondered what he’d do with that—walk away in a huff, or continue the game.
He lifted the bottom of my paper and peered up at me from beneath it. I fought back a smile.
“But, Mrs. Starbucks,” he said, “I would have known if you had been here at the same time as me.”
Color me impressed, I thought. He knew how to work his way through a conversation, and he didn’t mind goofing around. I glanced over to the large window facing the street so that I could take a peek at my reflection. I could only hope he wouldn’t notice as I checked for any errant whipped cream mustache. All clear. I quickly smoothed my hair before looking back at him.
“How would you have known I was here at the same time?” I asked.
“I saw you today, didn’t I?”
“But you didn’t yesterday.”
He laughed. “That’s just because you saw me first.”
“You looked right at me and didn’t notice me.” I narrowed my eyes at him. I was sure, by his confident demeanor, that a challenge was something he wasn’t used to, but I wasn’t one to back down — especially to someone not used to a challenge.
“Touché. But—”
“I don’t come regularly,” I interrupted. Then I blushed. I hadn’t meant the sexual innuendo. Shit. He probably hadn’t even heard the sexual innuendo until I started blushing. I hated how my pale skin betrayed my every thought.
He fought not to grin, but a dimple still appeared on his left cheek.
I didn’t even want to open the innuendo up for discussion. Besides, he had work soon. My blathering was probably the last thing he needed, and I wanted to talk for however long he had. “I just got out of a Master’s program, and I lived closer to campus. Now I live with my dad, a couple of blocks from here.”
“So there’s no Mr. Starbucks?” His smile was broad. He was confident, and a little cocky. Why shouldn’t he be? He was too damn gorgeous not to be full of himself.
“If you don’t count my dad, then no.”
He smiled, and just as he opened his mouth to speak, his phone started going off in his breast pocket. “Damn,” he muttered, grabbing the device.
“I really have to go,” he sighed, swiping his finger across the screen. “I’m glad I got to see you. It gives me the chance to ask if I can buy you a coffee sometime to thank you for yesterday.”
“Your thanks is plenty,” I smiled. I knew he was trying to make a date out of it. I wasn’t horribly displeased by the idea or anything, but I wasn’t sure, either. I couldn’t help but wonder about him.
He seemed far too smooth to not be a player. Plus, with those looks mixed in, there was no way in hell he wasn’t used to approaching women.
“Will you be here again tomorrow?”
“Maybe,” I said. “But maybe not.” I was definitely flirting. If anyone saw him, they wouldn’t be able to blame me. But I didn’t want to commit to anything, not until I knew more about him. I’d seen the corporate type before. They all donned the same look. Slick, well put-together, in desperate need of caffeine several times per day, and their cell phones glued to their ears. But in my experience, those sort of men were usually good at being players, and they rarely made time for real relationships, preferring, instead, quick hook-ups to satisfy their needs before they moved on to the next meaningless fling.
I didn’t want to be a fling, not anymore.
I’d been cheated on before. I’d been left to feel like nothing if not a fling. Even if I had been with him for years.
At eighteen, I was foolish. A fresh high school graduate, headstrong, the whole world at my feet, bowing down to my greatness. I’d thought I was invincible. And he thought the same. That was why we were so perfect for each other.
I’d met him in one of our business administration courses, and after we were forced into a group project together, we had grown close. First as friends, and then something much, much more.
I was lost the moment he first smiled at me, in all honesty. Lost in the fantasy of what it was like to be an adult — in an adult relationship. To have a boyfriend as a grown woman, free in the world on her own.
I couldn’t help but laugh, thinking about it now. I was so ridiculously stupid.
But he’d had me.
He’d definitely had me. I thought, no matter how completely ridiculous I was, in the beginning, I did grow to actually love the idiot. I’d loved him so much that I could hardly breathe when I found out the terrible truth about him. I’d loved him so much that the last words I’d said to him had to be ripped out of my throat, with a pain that I couldn’t even describe.
I’d been such a mess, I could have probably dropped to my knees and screamed out in pain, complete with cued rain pouring down, just like a cliché romance movie. I could have been the damn icon for angsty romantic tragedy.
It happened one day when I got out of class early and decided to swing by his apartment. I’d known something was strange as soon as I’d arrived. He was shirtless, his hair a mess, barefoot, and the buttons of his jeans were undone. They were even unzipped.
He said he was only just napping, and I stupidly shrugged it off as nothing. I even went as far as ignoring the fresh scratches I saw on his back and chest as we walked through the living room, past his roommates, and to his bedroom.
“I’ve been wrestling with Jared’s cat all day,” he said as if he felt my eyes scan his entire back. Jared was his roommate. A cat lover. And although a part of me wanted to believe what he was saying was true, I couldn’t. Especially when I sat down on his bed.
It was then, that I knew for sure, that he was cheating.
I could smell it. I could smell whoever she was all over his sheets. I wasn’t some crazy sniffing dog or anything. I didn’t have an impeccable sense of smell. But it was blatant. She was all over it. The smell of her perfume, the musky smell of sex, it was all there.
I remembered the way my heart fluttered when I finally made sense of it, and I remembered what it was like after it all ended. I remembered being sad, sure, but more than anything I remembered almost forgetting that he was a cheating scumbag and that we’d even broken up at all. I remembered expecting him to come over one Friday, like he always had, only to realize later that he’d never be there on another Friday again.
I even remembered going to bed one night, clad in an oversized sweatshirt that I’d bought freshman year so he could wear something comfy when he forgot his clothes — like he always did. I remembered how sad it made me, picturing him in it. I even remembered how I breathed in, deeply, trying to take in its scent, expecting it to still smell like him, only to realize that I’d already washed it. And there was no more chance of it ever smelling like him again.
I remembered how long and drawn out and completely pathetic it all had been. And it was something I was determined never to go through again. So I hardened my heart, forced away any feeling of softness towards the man I was leaving behind, and decided to live for me.
I promised myself that I’d never let myself feel like a fling again. That I would stay away from those types of men. And here I was, with a man I wasn’t completely sure of — but one that I almost couldn’t help wanting to get to know.
“Well,” Ian said, smiling, knocking me out of my thoughts. He stood up and buttoned his suit jacket. “I hope to see you tomorrow.”
I could tell, though, by his tone, that he thought — and would swear that he knew — I’d be here, waiting for him. I could tell he thought he had me. And part of me really wanted to show him up, but another part of me really did want to come back and take him up on his offer.
Without another word, he set off toward the door — but then suddenly stopped just a couple of steps away.
“Oh!” he exclaimed, just before turning himself on the ball of his foot, whipping back in my direction. “I almost forgot to ask your name!”
I wanted to make a joke about how I’d wanted to tell him yesterday, but I didn’t want to hold him up any longer.
“Kate.”
He smiled at me. “Well, it’s nice to finally meet you, Kate!”
“And you’re Ian, right?”
He grinned. “Yeah.” He tilted his head as if to contemplate whether he had already told me and I realized I had given up the secret that I had been listening for his name yesterday. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, Kate.”
He spun on his heel, and I couldn’t help but watch him jog toward the door.
He looked good. He looked damn good. Once again.
As he gathered his coat closer and walked outside, I watched as his shoulders flexed. I wondered what that gorgeous back looked like bare. How smooth his skin could be, stretched taut over those dreamy muscles.
I shivered as a tingle ran over my spine. Wow. I couldn’t believe I had just literally daydreamed like that. And I really couldn’t believe how foolish I sounded….
Dreamy muscles?
What was this guy doing to me?
I’d be back tomorrow. I was too fascinated to play hard-to-get. I needed to know more about him, about what kind of man he really was. Corporate player? Or someone with perhaps a little more substance?
Regardless, I was a little afraid. I wouldn’t allow a man to hurt me again, and I wouldn’t be a fling.