The Last Person

His gaze drifts to my legs again for a few seconds. “Yeah, well … I’m fresh out of ducks to give about you thinking I’m a dick. I’m not. You’ll see.” He winks before pivoting and sauntering to the stairs.

“Feel free to take that bag down to the dumpster.”

“Nah … that might fall under the buying-you-a-coffee level of kindness. And I’m not going there.”

“Asshole,” I whisper with the swell of a grin straining my cheeks.

Chapter Three

Eric didn’t say what time he’d meet me for coffee, so I choose my usual time, not caring if we have coffee. Sort of not caring.

“You’re late.” Eric smirks, his shaggy hair damp again and partially sweeping across his forehead as he looks edible propped up against the counter with his legs crossed and a paper cup in one hand.

“We didn’t set a time. I can’t be late.”

Finn slides a to-go cup in my direction as I swipe my debit card. He knows my usual drink and my usual time. Eric could learn a few things.

“You look pretty.” Eric manages to type something along his phone screen with one hand before slipping it into his pocket and pinning me with those deviant, dark eyes and ornery smile.

“Pretty? Huh … I don’t think anyone has ever said those three words to me. It’s a little old school, don’t you think?”

“I was being polite since you didn’t think I was polite at book club.”

I slide my debit card into my phone holder before picking up my coffee cup. “Why sugarcoat it now?”

“Fine. You look fuckable.”

I cough, thankfully before taking a sip of scorching hot coffee.

Finn sniggers behind me as I follow Eric.

“I’ll take pretty,” I mumble. “Where are you going?”

He pushes open the door and holds it for me. “Your tardiness means we have to drink our coffee at my store since my shipment will be arriving soon.”

“I have to be at work in an hour.”

“Good thing my store is right here.” He unlocks the door. “A two-minute walk from the bouldering gym or a twenty-second bike ride.”

I chase his intoxicating spicy scent (I mean … I follow him) into the retail space filled with cubed shelves and a few round racks. Eric hands me his cup, after a second of hesitation, I take it. He tips one of the box displays on its side and retrieves the coffee from me before taking a seat and nodding for me to sit next to him, facing the window and the reserved parking space for the impending delivery.

“So …” I take a seat. “Are you originally from Des Moines?”

“Kansas City.” He sips his coffee.

“What brought you here? Surely people in Kansas City buy T-shirts.”

“Followed a girl to law school at Drake.”

“Um …” I swallow and stiffen.

“Don’t worry. If this were a date, which it’s not, I wouldn’t be cheating on her. We broke up six months after we moved here.”

“Sorry. What happened? Did you trash her favorite book?”

He swivels his head toward me. “Funny.”

It’s not.

“No. We fought about other things like her deciding to start smoking because it soothes her nerves. My grandpa died from that shit. I just … I couldn’t figure out how someone in their twenties with a high IQ could start smoking. She had a little too much to drink one night and decided to seduce me after smoking half a pack of cigarettes. I pushed her away because nicotine doesn’t get me hard. She screamed at me and told me to get the hell out. So I did.”

“You didn’t go back to Kansas City. Why?”

“Finn.”

“Finn next door?”

He nods. “He’s my cousin. He told me about this open space.”

“Have you always wanted to open a T-shirt shop?”

“Yep. Since I was a wee little thing, all I could think about was a store full of T-shirts.”

Biting the inside of my cheek, I nod. It’s … an interesting dream.

“I’m just kidding.”

I roll my eyes and smirk before sipping my coffee and returning my focus to the street.

“I come from a bit of wealth.” He runs his hand through his hair. “That sounds arrogant. I’m not at all bragging about that. My parents are waiting for me to sow my wild oats and go home to take over the family business. So legit … this store adventure is nothing more than the simplistic fact that I like comfy T-shirts with crazy sayings on them. I have the rare and much appreciated luxury of opening a business without worry about its success.”

“Wow … so you’re just a spoiled rich kid.”

“Guilty.” He grins. “But the good kind.”

The smile on my face feels good even if it’s amusement for the rich guy. He just … admits it with no regrets.

“What about you? Are you a professional rock climber?”

“No. Not even close. I’m in charge of marketing. That’s my degree. I like it here. It’s affordable city living. And my parents live in West Des Moines. I’m an Iowa girl.”