The Playbook
Page 4
As she walks away, she turns to look back at me, blushes again and then disappears into the crowd of reporters. Fuck! I'd nearly forgotten why I was here. As I sit in my seat, my arms crossed casually across my chest, I try and ignore the nerves building in my stomach. Here we go.
I take a few deep breaths and wait for this circus to get underway.
Chapter Three
Abbey
“Skinny Latte please, with a shot of caramel,” I say to the barista at my favorite coffee shop, Little Bella Café, whilst trying to subtly straighten out my dark skirt, handcraftedfrom Italian wool. I shift my feet, running my hand over the curve of my hip, uncomfortable at how clingy the damn fabric is. I’d spent half my pay on it the week before. But if it does what I need it to, then it’s worth it.
“Sure thing, Abbey. Hey, you look nice today; what you all dressed up for? You got an interview or something?”
I shiver, excited that he noticed. Apart from the amazing coffee, Adam is what keeps me coming back here every day. He brushes his wavy brown hair from his eyes, his lips curving into a grin that sends my heart racing. The only thing sexier than his smile is the little dimple that pops out whenever it appears.
No interview. Just you.
“Ah, just meeting up with friends after work,” I say, thinking on my feet. I’m already regretting not having a backstory prepared, especially with my habit of oversharing when I’m nervous. I’m a reporter, for god’s sake. I should be the queen of bluffing by now.
After years of late study nights completing my degree, I finally landed my dream job last month with a respected monthly magazine. Well, dream job might be a little misleading, but it’s a step in the right direction. I’m a junior journalist at Over Eighties, the leading lifestyle magazine in the United Kingdom for people, you guessed it, over the age of eighty. I spend my days chasing riveting stories like “How to Make the Most of Your Pension,” and “Internet Dating” for our loyal readers. It’s hardly the hard-hitting journalism I want to be doing, but it pays the bills.
“Oh yeah, where are you off to?” he asks, sounding genuinely interested.
His question catches me off guard and I blush, because not one single place comes to mind. Shit. I really need to work on my cover skills. I rack my mind, trying to think of the name of the new bar Mel was raving on about.
“Oh just that new place, Revive?” The words squeak out, and I’m already planning my escape. It’s strange how I count down the seconds every morning until I see Adam, and when I’m in front of him, I can’t wait to get away.
“No way—I was heading there tonight with a few of the guys from here,” he says with a smile.
My heart skips a beat. Seriously? Of all the places, I choose the one he’s heading to? I blush again which earns me a chuckle. I’m glad he finds my embarrassment amusing.
“R-really?” I can't hide the fear in my voice. He has to be messing with me.
“We were just talking about it, yeah,” he says casually, handing me my latte. “Maybe we could meet up for a drink?”
Is he asking me out? My heart pounds. Trying to act all casual and non-committal, I take a big sip of my coffee and pretend to consider his offer—immediately regretting my decision as the boiling liquid burns my throat. Gasping, I lurch forward, expelling the hot coffee from my mouth and all over him. He stares back at me, wide-eyed, and mouth hanging open, no doubt in shock.
“Shit! Sorry,” I gasp, horrified. “Adam, I'm so sorry. Shit, shit, shit.” I hold my hand over my mouth, my feet frozen to the ground.
He stands there silently for a second, in his coffee-soaked shirt, until he finally bursts into laughter. I lift my gaze away from his chest, my eyes meeting his, pretending I didn’t notice the outline of his muscular chest through his damp shirt. I swallow past the lump in my throat, my face hot.
“Geez, Abbey; my coffee isn't that bad, is it?!”
Mortified I laugh, because it’s the only thing I can do. I toss a twenty down on the counter, grab what’s left of my drink and bolt, trying to ignore the chuckles rippling through the crowd of people waiting for their orders.
I’m so embarras
sed. I walk down the street so fast that I somehow manage to trip over my own shoes and snap the heel on my best pair of shoes. This can’t be happening. I park my arse down on the dirty pavement and laugh. Can today get any worse? I down the rest of my coffee and toss the cup into a nearby trash can. The saddest thing is now I have to find a new coffee shop.
My phone vibrates in my bag. Still sitting on the pavement, I fish it out and click answer.
“Thank god,” I sigh, when I realize it’s Mel. “You will not believe what just happened.”
“Abbey,” she sobs down the phone, “Can - can you come over?”
“Are you okay?” I sit forward, my own problems now the last thing on my mind.
“No,” she sobs. “Why are guys such assholes?”
“I’m on my way,” I say. Consoling Mel after a bad date is becoming a bit of a habit. But it’s not really surprising, considering the type of guys she goes for. “I’ll pick up supplies on the way - any requests?”