“Think I’m going to let you out, you stuck-up shallow prick?” he shouted. “I’ll block your car in. I’ll make you late for work. What are you going to do? Call a tow truck? I’ll fuck you up, asshole!”
An ongoing dispute over a parking space? Seriously? I needed to step in. A fight like this could go from 0-100, real quick.
The maintenance guy was on the verge of total system failure. As a health-care professional, I was worried the throbbing vein in the side of his neck might actually explode. Either that or he might just run up and take a bite out of rich boy’s face.
Both interesting possibilities, from a “my first fight” perspective. But both definitely implied me being late for work. The boring pacifist in me kicked into gear, and before they could launch into some serious sixth-grade name calling, I stepped in between.
“Hey, hey there! Calm down!”
Perhaps it was how ludicrously underwhelming my little bird-like frame must have looked, holding up two twiggy arms to either of their chests, but both men took one look at me and took a giant step back. A rush of satisfaction warmed my blood and it was all I could do not to smile. Or perhaps it was how fucking badass I was!
Keep it together, Bex. Here’s where you come off all cool and heroic.
I pulled off my sunglasses with the gravitas of a seasoned detective. “Now what seems to be the problem here?”
The rich man started to speak, but I turned deliberately to his opponent. The maintenance man—Barry, I saw his tag now—had turned the color of boiled shellfish.
“The problem is, this guy cut me off with his damn town car!” Barry said.
“Not me.” The man held up his hands and blew out a long breath. “My driver. Listen, I would love to chat about this more, but I’m late for a very important meeting.”
“Your driver?” Barry took another threatening step forward. “I swear, you rich son of a bitch. I have half a mind to—”
“Listen,” I cut him off soothingly. A bit of a crowd had begun to gather and I was suddenly worried that when the fun was over, they might start pouring into my coffee shop and I would never get to work on time.
Another maintenance worker stepped next to his buddy. “Nothing says, ‘I’m a prick’ like a town car and a sixty-dollar haircut.”
There was a muffled reaction next to me, but I ignored it.
“I hear you,” I said, trying to calm both of them before a riot broke out. “But let me tell you what, why don’t we get inside and I’ll buy Barry an espresso—just for keeping the peace?”
I threw in a wink for good measure and watched as Barry’s coloration returned to normal.
“Make it a double,” he muttered, but he marched obediently inside.
I defused a bomb! She shoots, she scores! First no dark circles, and now this? I’m on a roll today!
The crowd around me cheered. I took a small bow, and a man let out a long whistle. Was this what fame felt like?
“Way to go!” a woman shouted. “That was so sweet of you!”
“Paying it forward,” another man said.
“You rock!” somebody shouted.
Maybe Barry should find a proper parking spot. He wasn’t going to stay double-parked, was he? Oh, well. At least I stopped the fight. Practically glowing with my accomplishment, I started to follow Barry when a cool voice suddenly made me turn.
“Don’t I get an espresso?”
The rich man had taken off his sunglasses and my automatic reproach was delayed for a second or two as I lost myself in his green-gray eyes. They were the exact color of the ocean, but not the crayon blue oceans at the overcrowded beaches here in Southern California. No, it was one of those ice-cold oceans with big boulder beaches instead of sand. The kind of ocean where I could sit for hours in perfect isolation, staring into the water as salty spray misted my face.
My gosh. The man was absolutely gorgeous. I was taken aback by how hot he was and no words would come out of my mouth. “I’m sorry.” I shook my head quickly and returned my attention to the man. “What?”
I had been thinking about oceans, you see.
The corner of his mouth twitched up and he cocked his head to the side. “I said, don’t I get an espresso?”