I can’t afford this… Rachel barely broke even between her translation business and articles she wrote online. Content mills. Blog post clients. It cobbled together every month to pay the rent on her studio apartment, her other student loans, and the food she put into her stomach. There were no savings. There was hardly any wiggle room for an extra hundred a month, let alone three!
I need to get more work. Or get a job. Ha! Getting a job! Yeah, right. Every time Rachel attempted employment, she either met a million dead ends or was promptly laid off before the first three months were up. No matter what, she ended up on the translation grind again.
The only time she had a “real” job since graduating six years before was when she spent her first year out of college teaching English in Japan. She had come back after her first contract was up because she couldn’t stand teaching. Or children, for that matter.
So why was the final tab on her browser opened to the latest English conversation schools hiring? Desperation. Bitter, bitter desperation.
Rachel closed out of them all with a sigh. She needed to get back to translating a batch of song lyrics a band’s super fan demanded to understand. At least it wasn’t Japanese family law.
She didn’t know what to do when she glanced out the large window and saw a man peering through the glass.
What the… Oh, no. It was him.
The hottie who had drawn her picture!
There he was, forehead pressed against the frosty glass, eyes peering through the O in Opal’s. His large hands shielded his eyes from the light behind him. The light that illuminated his tight, black T-shirt and those ridiculous biceps.
Rachel was compelled to close her netbook. Two seconds later, she wondered why.
Mr. Hot Artist sauntered into the café with an extra skip in his step. Knee-length khaki cargo shorts – something that would look awful on any other man, but somehow only made him look more effortlessly hot! – brought him over to the counter, where he quickly surveyed the case while taking out his wallet. Parvati went up to him so quickly that she almost knocked the tip jar over.
Rachel couldn’t hear what they were saying. But Parvati grinned like she was winning the lottery, and Mr. Hot Artist removed his sunglasses so he could read one of the small menus on the counter. He gestured to the statue. Parvati shook her head and shrugged.
One minute later, she was making another latte and pulling a chocolate chip cookie out of the case. Cash exchanged hands and fluttered into the tip jar. The man took his cookie, pocketed his wallet, and…
Sat at the empty table next to Rachel’s.
Her heartrate doubled.
Should she say something? Thank him for the picture currently at the bottom of her mail stack? Should she fix her hair? Should she run home screaming because she had no idea what the fuck to do?
Damn, he smelled so good. That aftershave was illegal in some countries!
Rachel ultimately decided to play it cool. This meant staring at her netbook while completely forgetting the song she was supposed to be translating. Who could think in any language except gdskflsjklgjklsjklb! right now?
“Oh, damn,” came a droll voice beside her. “Just realized this cookie isn’t gluten free.”
She caught the man’s eyes. Her stomach did a backflip and her poor pelvis seized in delight. Shit, you slut, calm down!
“Would you like it?”
“Uh…” Rachel pointed to her chest, as if she couldn’t believe this man would ever want to give her a cookie. “Excuse me?”
“Sorry, bit sudden, isn’t it?” That cool smile implied this man knew exactly what he was doing. “I said that I accidentally bought a cookie that wasn’t gluten free. I’m sensitive to gluten. Would you like to have this cookie instead? I don’t want it going to waste.”
If you take it back up, Parvati would be more than happy to eat that cookie on her lunch break. In truth, Rachel was more than happy to eat it as well. She loved the cookies at Opal’s. The baked goods were one of many shining achievements that kept her coming back two or three times a week.
“No thanks.”
“Oh. Sorry for bothering you.”
You idiot! Rachel was already chastising herself as she stared at meaningless Japanese kanji on her screen. How fucking dare you turn this guy down? For anything?
Right. She was supposed to be celibate until the end of August. Besides, this man was so out of her league that there was no chance in hell he was actually flirting with her. That was so absurd that it might as well make her laugh. Except she couldn’t laugh. Her words, her humor were so choked in her throat that there was no hope in hell that she would be able to laugh right now.
“Thanks, though,” she squeaked, refusing to look this guy in the eyes again.
Unfortunately for Rachel, it was impossible to ignore him and go back to her work. It didn’t matter how much she cranked up the heavy metal on Spotify. It also didn’t matter if she turned her body away from him, completely blocking him out of her sight. No matter what she did, he was still there, attention on her.
If he had never drawn a picture of her, Rachel would have assumed that this guy never even noticed her. But he had drawn her. He had stared at her long enough to create a likeness of her in the span of half an hour.
It made her tremble. For all the wrong reasons.
But nothing made her actually jump out of her seat like when that man pulled out the chair across from her and sat in it as if it were his God given right to do so.
“So here’s the thing,” he said. Rachel yelped in surprise, earbuds dropping to her keyboard and pen falling to the floor. She bent down to pick it up, but it was too late. The man had picked it up for her, and now his fingerprints were all over her favorite pen.
She snatched it out of his grasp, heart still racing.
“Can I… help you?”
“You can, actually.” He folded his arms on the table, careful to not mess up her arrangement of folders, papers, pens, and dictionaries. “I think you can help me with my work. Barring that, I think you should go out with me.”
Rachel’s mouth dropped open. “W… what?”
“Oh, sorry.” He held his hand in front of her. “Zachary Feldman. Heard of me?”
Rachel did not catch on that she was supposed to shake his hand and left him hanging. Instead, she slowly shook her head, mouth still agape.
He snatched his hand back. “All right. So not everyone knows me. That’s fine.” He folded his arms again. “Long story short, I’m an artist. I drew you the other morning because I thought you had a striking profile worth capturing on paper. Didn’t know you would suddenly fuel some ideas for new work. So what do you say? Wanna be my model?”
Rachel was trapped between disbelief and utter, utter hilarity.
What else could she do but start cracking up?
Her laughter burst before she had the chance to contain it. One moment Rachel Taylor was about to lose her shit because this beautiful man was giving her the kind of tingles she did not need in her life, and the next? He was being such a fucking charlatan that all she could do was laugh.
He sat back, that charismatic smile faltering. “Are you all right?”
Rachel’s hands clapped together in utter glee. “That’s rich!” she cried. I think I’m honestly gonna have tears streaming down my face! “Be your muse… or go out with… woo!” She forced herself to calm down, if only to spew the words bubbling behind her lips. “That’s a new one for me, mister. Does that usually work, though? What’s the success rate on that?”
He propped his chin up on his hand, leaning toward the right. “I don’t follow.”
“Come on! I bet this is your shtick, right? Draw a picture of a woman, then ask her out, because how can I say no if you’ve taken the time to draw a picture of me?”
“So you did get my picture?” Zack looked back at Parvati, stealthily watching them from behind the cold case. “Was worried she never got around to it.”
Rachel flicked her pen between her anxious fingers. “So go on, tell me. What’s the success rate of this? I wanna know which side to err on.”
“Look.” Zack showed her the breadth of his palm. That’s… a sturdy hand you’ve got there. The kind of hand Rachel liked to fantasize about. Touching her. Holding her. Grabbing her tits and letting her ride those fingers until she came so hard she no longer knew if she were home or not. Been a long time since I had a zinger like that. “It’s not a shtick. I’m 100% serious.” He scoffed. “Rather unbelievable, though. If I had tried that on any other woman, I’m pretty sure it would have worked. Ah, that’s it.” He grinned. “You’re a lesbian. It’s the only explanation.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “None of your business.”
“Oh, so you’re bisexual?”
“Excuse me?” She blushed.
“If you were a lesbian, you would have confirmed it. If you were straight, you would have had some words about me calling you a lesbian. They always do.” He cleared his throat. “Therefore, you must be bisexual.”
Rachel bit her lip. No comment on that.
“So that means I have a 50% chance with you.”
“Not sure that’s how that math works.”
“It is now.”