Ugh. Yeah, thinking about all this isn’t helping with the nervousness.
You asked for this, I remind myself. You set this up. So suck it up.
Warmth envelops me as I step through the door of the coffee shop, and the familiar scent of cinnamon and coffee is calming. It will be okay. I’ll grab a hot drink, find a seat, and compose in my mind what I’ll say to him when he arrives.
So I order my strawberry latte—Latte! With strawberries!—and hum under my breath while waiting for it to be ready. I’ll apologize to him, of course. That’s first on the list. I’ll give him a vague explanation about a past trauma. Or maybe say I wanted to experiment, but it scared me.
Yeah, this might do. I doubt I’m the first one of his clients to freak out with bondage. And then I’ll—
The door of the coffee shop swings open and he walks in.
The words vanish from my head like puffs of smoke.
Holy hotness. Was he that handsome the first time I met him? I guess I was so terrified I was making a huge mistake; it’s all a blur. I mean, I can’t remember much, except for his deep dimples when he smiled. And now...
Now he seems to fill the small coffee shop with his big frame and his aura of strength. His eyes glint like smoky glass in the overhead lights.
Okay. Don’t stare, Pax, just don’t stare.
Too late. His gaze lands on me, and there’s a breathless pause, a moment of stillness as if he debates approaching me or turning around and leaving.
“Your strawberry latte, miss,” Helen, the sweet girl behind the counter tells me, and I smile distractedly at her, reaching for my mug.
By the time I turn back around, he’s right in front of me.
I gasp and juggle my cup, hot strawberry latte spilling over my fingers, scalding them.
“Paxtyn.” He grabs the cup, steadying my hold, his hand covering mine. He studies my face, his gaze somber, no trace of his teasing grin from the other day, and I shouldn’t miss it so much. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” I draw a deep breath, and even in the stuffy air of the coffee shop that’s laden with smells, the light spice of his sweat fills my senses. Musk, and citrusy body wash, and a faint whiff of motor oil.
“Okay. Good.” He lets go of my mug, shoves his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. “You wanna sit here? Or go somewhere? What did you have in mind?”
He’s standing there, stiffly, obviously ill at ease, probably remembering what happened and how badly it ended.
“Shall we have a coffee? Here?” I lick my lips, my mouth gone dry. “That okay?”
“Okay? Yeah, sure.” His eyes narrow. “If that’s what you want.”
I nod and gesture at the list of drinks on the wall. “Choose your poison.”
Eyeing me warily, shoulders hunched, he orders a latte, and belatedly I remember I’m supposed to pay for his drinks when we’re out. By then he’s taken out his wallet, but I reach over and hand the cashier my card.
“My treat,” I say, and he puts his wallet away, his shoulders relaxing a little.
Yeah. I shouldn’t forget this isn’t a meeting between friends. There are rules, and there’s money paid and services offered. This is business.
Stick to the rules, Paxtyn.
We stand in terse silence as his latte is prepared. The noise of the other customers surrounds me like a fuzzy blanket, and the familiar smells cocoon me, but still I’m too aware of him—his tall presence, his warmth, and the new, invisible wall between us.
“You didn’t complain to the agency,” he says at last, as his latte is placed on the counter. He takes it with a nod and turns toward me. “And you paid.”
“It was the least I could do,” I tell him and lead the way to a table at the back. It’s kind of dark here, but I like having the wall at my back. Makes me feel safe, like nobody can sneak up on me.
Haven’t felt safe since that dreadful night and I doubt I ever will again.
“So…” He puts his mug on the table and draws the chair back to sit. “Paxtyn.”