A gorgeous man drinking iced coffee was checking me out.

Under normal circumstances, that probably wasn’t too exciting. At the university, I got my fair share of male interest. I was twenty and in good shape. Men seemed to like my wavy shoulder-length honey-blonde tresses and blue eyes.

But now I was stuck at my parent’s house for the summer. Most of my friends were finding exciting internships, backpacking in exotic lands, or even just perfecting their tans at the beach. The most interesting thing I’d done lately was to sit in this coffeehouse, sipping Frappuccinos, and looking for a part-time job.

So yeah, a handsome man sending admiring glances my way rated pretty high on my own personal excitement meter this summer.

I had my laptop open to several job search sites, plus Facebook and my e-mail, but my attention kept going back to him. He was sitting a few tables away, with a newspaper spread out in front of him. A newspaper! Who read those anymore? But he was older than me, maybe in his late thirties. He wasn’t old, but I guess newspapers had been more important in his life than in mine.

A chime sounded on my laptop. It was Abby, a friend I’d taken a couple of classes, with wanting to know what I was up to. I told her a hot guy was checking me out.

She replied: Lucky you! Tell me about him.

Mmm, another excuse to look at him. From what I’d seen so far, he was definitely worth a second—and third and fourth—glance.

I responded: He’s older, but super hot!!!! Dark hair, a little bit messy in a sexy way, kwim? And at his temples, it’s a little salt and peppery. And god, his glasses. They make him look so damn delicious!

She responded right away: Shit, he does sound hot. Ring?

I squinted at his hand where it rested on the table: Nope!

Abby was enthusiastic: Then go for it, girl! Older guys know what to do with a woman. Trust me!

She’d dated an older man? She didn’t really seem the type. Then again, I hadn’t thought I was either until he caught my eye today.

And it was clear that I’d drawn his, too. He kept glancing over my way. When he did, I pretended to be absorbed my chat with Abby, but once I goofed up and looked at him right when he was looking at me. My blue eyes connected with his light ones, a gorgeous hazel that seemed to look deep inside of me. It was like every nerve in my body sat up and paid attention. God he was hot.

When he saw me looking, he raised his cup, as if to say cheers. I smiled, trying to seem confident but probably coming off as a bit bashful, if truth be told. A guy that looked that good had to have lots of women flirting with him. What did I know about men his age? They were real men, not like the idiot boys who hit on me in college.

Oh crap, I’d missed several messages from Abby: What’s his build like? Body-builder or dad bod? Is he tall? Cassie, are you there? I need deets!!!

Hastily, I typed: He definitely works out. Strong arms. Broad chest.

Her response: Seriously, you need to go for it. You’ve spent long enough moping over your stupid ex. Time to move on with an older hottie who knows what he’s doing!

Reading that made my face flush. For some reason, I did suspect that the man knew what he was doing in the bedroom. It was just something about his confident self-assurance. He wasn’t blushing like I was. He was just letting me know that he found me attractive. His confidence set him apart from the fumbling guys my friends set me up with.

Mr. Hottie picked up the newspaper and refolded it, setting it back on the table. In the process, he’d angled himself toward me a little, and now I could better see what he was wearing. A black t-shirt with a picture of a guitar on it. It looked great with his tan skin. The firm muscles of his arms and chests filled it out nicely. And black jeans, too—who was this guy, Batman? Very few people wore black in Florida in the summertime. But the overall effect was pretty enticing. I was sick of seeing guys dressed like wanna-be surfers or clueless tourists. We got enough of both of those around here, and they definitely weren’t my type.

Self-consciously, I smoothed my hair back, tucking it behind my ear. His eyes followed my movement, and somehow that pleased me. I hadn’t had a boyfriend in a year, since my high school sweetheart, Brad Harper, cheated on me with my best friend, Stephanie Mills. The betrayal and loss of my boyfriend and my best friend had been devastating. I’d loved Brad so much and truly thought we’d be together for the rest of our lives. Sometimes I wasn’t sure I’d ever get past that relationship.

Nobody I’d met in the past year had tempted me very much. Most of the guys my age were just so immature. They only wanted sex. None of them seemed interested in being my friend as well as my lover. And none had the easy, sexy confidence of this man sitting a few tables away. I didn’t know him, and he didn’t know me, but it was fun, being the object of his attention. So maybe I could do a little more to keep that attention.

Abby didn’t seem to be online anymore, so I closed that chat and dutifully went back to searching the job ads. But I glanced up at him from time to time, looking at him through my lashes. When our gazes met, I gave him a quick smile before looking down again. A few moments later when I risked another peek at him, he was smiling back. Okay, so far so good.

My Frappuccino was half finished, but there was still a bit of the whipped cream left. I dipped the straw through the white fluffiness and pulled it out, bringing it to my mouth. Watching him, I flicked my tongue out, licking the cream off the end of the straw. Okay, so that was a pretty obvious thing to do, but it wasn’t like I was super well-versed in across-the-room flirting techniques. Or any flirting techniques. I’d become friends with Brad our sophomore year of high school. By the beginning of junior year, we were a couple, right up until last year. So basically, my flirting-with-a-hot-stranger skills hadn’t progressed past those of a shy high school girl.

Mr. Hottie seemed to like my effort, though. He winked at me, and I smiled back, licking my lips. That one hadn’t been planned—my mouth felt sticky from the whipped cream.

Okay, what next? It’s not like I thought anything was going to come of this, but it was fun. It was also getting me turned on, a rare feeling for me nowadays. My sex drive had all but disappeared after Brad’s betrayal. Maybe a little harmless flirty was a step in the right direction.

Trying to look casual, I ran my fingers through my hair again, pushing it away from my face, only this time I moved my fingers down my neck to the top of my chest. I stopped at the neckline of the sleeveless shirt I wore. I slipped one finger under the fabric and tugged the material out a little. Then I got embarrassed and hastily picked up my drink, taking a long sip.

When I looked up at him, he raised an eyebrow at me. He’d clearly noticed my little performance. He was grinning but not ogling the way some guys did. I got the feeling that he was enjoying himself, but that he considered this to be harmless flirting, too. Or did he do this kind of thing a lot? He was pretty damn good-looking. I bet he didn’t have much trouble attracting female attention.

The next time I glanced his way, he was ready for me. He held up his cup, pointed to mine, and then jerked his thumb toward the counter where a half dozen people waited in line. It took me a minute to figure out he wanted to buy me a drink.

Did I want him to do that? Sure, I could use another, but what would I say when he brought it over? What might he say? Still—hot guy, free drink. It was pretty much a no-brainer. But how to tell him what I wanted? It would kill the mystery to just march over there and give him my order. And then I had an idea.

Nodding at him, I put my finger up, signaling for him to wait. And then I tore a sheet off of the pad of paper I had on the table, ready to take notes about any interesting jobs, not that I’d found any today.

I jotted down the name of my favorite drink and folded the paper in half, then in half again. It was a skill I hadn’t used since boring high school classes, but thirty seconds later I was holding a pretty decent paper airplane.

He raised his eyebrow in admiration when I held it up. I took careful aim, drew my hand back, and let it fly. Normally, paper airplanes have a mind of their own, but this one flew relatively straight. Perhaps there was some kind of guardian angel for women who hadn’t had sex in over a year. The airplane headed straight for him but then lost altitude a few feet in front of him. With surprisingly quick reflexes, he lunged, snatching it before it hit the ground.

Sitting back down, he unfolded it and then frowned, looking from the paper to me. I guess he’d never heard of a Thin Mint Frappuccino—most people hadn’t. Smiling, I pointed at the paper again, and he took off his glasses and squinted at it. I guess he only needed them for distance, but he’d looked so hot whipping them off like that.

Apparently reading the “fine print” I’d written, “They know how to make it,” he gave me a thumbs up, stood, and got in line.

Wow... that meant that in just a few minutes, he’d be coming over here. What would I say? I hadn’t thought much beyond: He’s hot. This is fun. I deserve a little fun. I didn’t know what to do when he came to bring me my drink.

I still had a few minutes. He was fourth in line, so I opened my purse and took out my compact. Quickly, I touched up my eye makeup, put on some lipstick, and smoothed powder over my cheeks. I didn’t wear too much make-up in the summer, but I always wore some because my eyelashes were blonde and therefore nearly invisible without mascara. Thank god for mascara.

When I was done, he was third in line. Nervously, I waited, unsure what to do with myself. I glanced at Facebook. Checked my e-mail. Closed the tabs I’d opened for jobs that hadn’t shown much promise. And all the while, my pulse pounded with excitement.

Now he was second in line, and the person in front of him looked almost done. Since he had his back to me, I could watch him without risk of getting caught, so I did, waiting to see how he interacted with the barista. But then a shadow passed over the table and someone was blocking my view. Two someones.

I looked up and my stomach dropped to my feet. This—I’d never expected this. I wasn’t ready for this. The two people standing in front of me were the last two people on earth I wanted to encounter. Yet they were here.

Brad and Stephanie.

My ex-boyfriend and my ex-best friend.

Crap.