“Can I have this seat?” A deep voice interrupted my typing, and I stifled a sigh.
“Uh, sure,” I replied, without looking up. I had to finish my latest movie review in the next ten minutes and e-mail it to my editor if I wanted to get paid for the article.
“Can I have some space on the table?” His voice was dry as he spoke again, and I pulled my laptop toward me quickly, my eyes never leaving my screen. “I don’t mean to disturb you,” he continued, and this time I ignored him completely. I didn’t have time for chitchat. Not when I had to finish an article on Adam Sandler’s latest movie and persuade viewers to go and watch it without completely lying about my feelings toward the acting and the poor jokes.
I typed away as quickly as I could, but I could feel that the man was staring at me. I bit down on my lower lip to stop myself from looking up at him and asking what his problem was. It wasn’t his fault that I was on high alert and anxious. I knew that I couldn’t have an expectation of privacy if I was working at a coffee shop, but I didn’t normally have to worry about a stranger talking to me. People in New York never talk to strangers, not unless they are tourists.
I sighed and looked up. “Did you need help with something?” My breath caught as I stared at the man’s face. He was handsome, or appeared to be under the Yankees cap that covered half of his forehead. His blue eyes looked into mine with a bright light, and I could see a hint of a smile on his full pink lips. I licked my lips unconsciously as I stared at the man across from me and attempted to brush my messy hair back. “I can move onto my back if you want. I mean, move back,” I stuttered as he stared at me with his lips twitching slightly. “I don’t mean I’ll go on my back or anything, I mean I can move farther back, if you need more space.” My face burned red as I tried to explain myself.
“No, you’ve done enough. Thank you.” He nodded and looked down at his book in a dismissive fashion. Served me right, I suppose. I hadn’t really given him the time of day, and it would be way too obvious if I tried to start up a conversation now. I looked at my watch and then back at my article; I had five minutes to sum up a lackluster review of a movie I’d thought was inane. If I didn’t send it over, I wouldn’t get paid. And now that this was my only form of income, I needed to get paid. I went back to typing, though my mind was partially on the man I was sharing the table with. His knee was rubbing against mine, and I couldn’t help but laugh at myself for the slight thrill his touch was giving me.
“Loser,” I whispered to myself under my breath as I wrapped up the article and attached it in an e-mail. I knew that I was sending the e-mail without rereading the article one more time so that I could try to chat with the man. Though I really had no business trying to flirt with a strange man in a coffee shop. I was about to ask him what he was reading when I got the strangest sensation that someone was watching me again. And this time I knew it wasn’t the man sharing the table with me. I looked around the coffee shop and saw an older-looking man sipping his coffee and staring at me over a newspaper. As soon as our eyes made contact, he looked away and back down at his paper. I felt my heart racing as I stared at his coffee cup on the table. It wasn’t from this coffee shop. I pressed Send on my e-mail and grabbed my bag up from the floor in a panic, spilling half of its contents on the ground.
“You need some help?” The man looked up from his book and then stared at the ground. He leaned down and picked up my lipstick and some mints and handed them to me. Our fingers brushed each other’s as I took my belongings from him, and I felt a dart of electricity running through me at his touch.
“Thanks.” I stared into his deep blue eyes and nodded quickly.
“Is everything okay?” His eyes crinkled in concern, and I was about to answer, when I felt the man in the corner staring at me again.
“I’m fine.” I looked back down at my computer screen and stifled a groan. I’d received another message from Matt, a guy I’d spoken to a couple of times on the computer, yet had decided I didn’t want to meet. I opened the e-mail slowly, not really wanting to read what he had to say. I’d much rather be talking to the hunk in front of me. I read the e-mail from Matt quickly and then deleted it without responding. He just wouldn’t leave me alone. “Stalker,” I muttered under my breath, and looked up again to see the hunk staring at me.
“Sorry, were you talking to me?” His lips were twitching again, and I shook my head.
“No, sorry. I just had an e-mail from this guy. If it was from you, I wouldn’t be pressing Delete, trust me.” I groaned out loud as I realized what I’d said. “I mean, because you seem like a really nice guy.”