He wouldn’t stand me up, would he?
Catching myself swaying back and forth on the balls of my feet, I shake out my hands and wander closer to the large marble counter to distract myself with the various pastries enclosed in glass. The flaky golden crust of the maple croissant looks really inviting, but so does the gooey carrot cake muffin. I bite my bottom lip when I spot a matcha macaron as well. This place seems to have it all.
Looking up at the drinks, my upper lip curls momentarily when I spot a lavender latte. Too damn sweet. I’ve made that mistake one too many times. A pistachio latte, though? That could be promising. Or maybe I should just go with a black coffee, save myself the risk of not liking what I pick and pretending to sip it during the entire date.
This is a date, right?
Shit.
Is it just a hang out, a meet-up? People grab drinks all the time at bars, and those aren’t technically dates…wouldn’t grabbing coffee fall into the same category?
The sound of a loud engine pulling up outside startles me from my thoughts, and I turn to look out the windows and see a sleek black motorcycle stop in front of the shop. The guy on it seamlessly swings off before lifting off his red helmet.
My breathing stops as I watch Aleks shake his head before running his hand through his hair. My eyes zero in on the way his biceps flex at the action. He is wearing another tight T-shirt today, and I am not complaining. I almost want to petition that he only wears T-shirts with tight sleeves. That or he can go just plain shirtless. Although, a sleeveless tee would be sexy, too. Maybe then I could see how far his tattoos reach.
I watch him check his phone with a frown before jogging to the door. We make eye contact, and he gives me an apologetic smile.
“Hey, sorry I’m late. There was a crash on the highway.”
There is a light sheen of sweat on his neck that shouldn’t look sexy but really is when paired with the prominent vein peeking through. I want to lick it.
Oh my god, Horny Stevie can’t be making an appearance already. The man has been in my vicinity for negative five seconds.
“Totally fine, you’ll just have to buy my coffee to make up for it.”
He chuckles deeply, and it niggles something in my chest. “I was always going to buy you coffee and some food. Take your pick.”
I nod, trying to stifle my small smile. “Alright, let’s see.”
I order the pistachio latte with an extra shot of espresso and the maple croissant. Aleks, to my surprise, orders a mocha whipped coffee with oat milk and the vegan double-chocolate muffin warmed up. I would’ve bet money on him ordering a black coffee, and I would have lost every cent.
“Are you vegan?” I query him.
“No, but my friend is and this is her favorite place. She introduced me and my friends to it because she loves this muffin and swears by it. I was hesitant at first because, well, it’s a vegan muffin. But it’s really freaking good.”
She?
“Oh, that’s cool.”
Is she just a female friend, or is she something more? Obviously not someone’s girlfriend or he would have referred to her in that way. I’m concocting an image of a total knockout in my mind. Aleks is hot; there’s no way his “friends” aren’t hot as well. Also, guys rarely have female friends they haven’t contemplated banging at least once. Just look at Chase.
Dammit, I’m getting jealous over a girl I know absolutely nothing about. Horny Stevie has turned into Green-Eyed Monster Stevie. Stupid.
“Do you want to save us a seat in the back while I wait for the drinks and food? They have these super comfortable couches.”
“Yeah, you got it.” I make sure to give him a smile before heading deeper into the café.
I can’t let one little comment ruminate. That’s just ridiculous. He isn’t mine or anything.
Yet.
There are a few of the C-shaped couches free, but there is one snuggled farther to the back, hidden by one of the large monstera plants, that calls to me. I weave my way through the other patrons dotted about and slide onto the couch.
I instantly sink into the insanely soft fabric. Oh my god, I never want to leave this couch. Honestly, it seems like a risky choice for a coffee shop to invest in cream fabric, though. I imagine people spill coffee on these regularly.
“You picked my favorite seat.”
Aleks slides the tray with our drinks and food onto the table, plucking the mug with my drink off and placing it in front of me, along with the plate hosting my croissant. He slides his own glass of coffee and plate to the center of the table before entering the couch from the opposite side, placing his helmet next to him. He shifts closer to the middle of the C, and I feel the couch dip slightly as he positions himself nearer to me.
“I did? Great minds think alike.”
“Yup, I like that it feels a little more private. Especially when it gets busier in here.”
He’s right. The monstera gives the illusion that we are hidden from everyone else. It didn’t even occur to me how intimate it would feel back here. But it does feel like we are in our own little world, tucked into this corner.
I pick up the gold mug, blowing on it softly before taking a sip. The nutty taste melts onto my tongue. There’s also a sweet undernote of cinnamon, and once I’ve swallowed, there is a little kick from the extra shot of espresso in the back of my throat. It’s an amazing combination. As good as my maple bourbon latte? Debatable. But it’s damn close.
“What’s the verdict? Did I bring you to a good place?” Aleks props his right elbow on the table and leans his chin into his palm while sipping his coffee with his left hand. My eyes slip, once again, to the veins running down his inner forearm. They shift slightly as he brings the glass to his lips, and the sleeve of his T-shirt tightens around his bicep. The muscle flexes effortlessly, making the small emblem tattoo ripple.
This man is going to think I have an arm fetish soon.
“I can’t give it a rating before trying the pastry first.” I tell him.
He gestures towards the croissant with his coffee hand, raising his brows.
I tamp down a smile as I tear off a piece of croissant. The pastry flakes off beautifully, like you would see in a commercial. Popping it into my mouth, I can’t help the small moan that rumbles in my throat. Maple is my favorite flavor of anything, but pair it with a fresh, high-quality croissant, and you have pure heaven.
“I take that as a positive response.”
“It’s amazing. You did well. I’d give this place a solid B-plus.”
“Ouch, not an A?”
“The latte is good but not as good as my favorite place. The croissant, though, is heavenly.”
“I don’t know. This muffin is pretty A-plus.” He peels down the wrapping and takes a large bite of the gooey chocolate muffin.
“Mmm—fuck, I love this.”
My ovaries burst a little at the noise he makes.
Is there anything this guy does that isn’t sexual?
He uses his thumb to sweep a stray crumb from the corner of his lip and sucks it off the pad.
Nope.