The Real

His chuckle was deep and covered me, even across the space between us. He bit his full bottom lip as he typed, his smirk still intact.

Fuck. Me. Damn it, Abbie!

Cameron’s Mac: Well, I guess today is not my day.

Abbie’s Mac: That’s all you’ve got?

I had no clue why I sent that message . . . why I was bothered that he didn’t try harder. Just that fucking smirk. It was sexy as hell.

He read my message and shrugged as he typed.

Cameron’s Mac: You seem to enjoy coffee. I don’t have an agenda. You’re beautiful, I noticed. I wanted to drink coffee with you. You said no. I’m going to scrape up the rest of my pride now and head out.

He closed his laptop and stood while I deflated. Damn it. He was being nice. Since when are guys just . . . nice?

Am I a man hater? Have I become that woman?

I spoke up as he slipped his computer into a worn leather bag.

“I’m sorry,” I offered in quick apology. “I was expecting some horrible line or screwed up proposition. The web, messaging, anything that has to do with technology has been hazardous for me. I’ve seen enough unsolicited dick pics for a lifetime. I was just being cautious.” And that was the truth. But I’d said it aloud in verbal vomit. Did I really say “dick pics” out loud?

He chuckled again as he looked down at me from where he stood, then grinned.

“Today isn’t the right day.” The husky baritone of his voice matched the silky hue of his eyes, which seemed to darken as he looked me over.

“No?” I asked in a whisper as I sized up his six-foot-plus frame and imagined the possibilities.

“No,” he said. “Maybe we can not have coffee again sometime?”

He’d tapped out with a simple ‘no’ from me. He couldn’t have been that interested in the first place.

I couldn’t deny the disappointment welling up in my ovaries.

“Okay.” I lifted the last syllable when he didn’t press further.

Cameron pulled out his wallet and set some money on his table then walked over to mine and did the same.

“At least let me buy your next cup.”

After setting the bills down, he stood over me briefly and I caught his scent—purely masculine. I inhaled as much as I could without being obvious. He didn’t smell like a psycho.

Cameron picked up his man–bag while I pictured running my fingers through his messy, inches thick, dark-brown hair.

Don’t let him leave. Tell him you aren’t that big of a bitch. But that would seem desperate. You aren’t desperate. But you are horny. Omg, are you horny??

As if reading my thoughts, I caught another flash of his teeth and had to bite my cheek to keep my reaction in check.

“I’ll see you.”

“Yeah, see you. And thanks,” I said to his retreating back, an octave louder than necessary. “For the coffee,” I added. Outside the window, Cameron bent and exchanged words with Bennie before sticking some cash in his hand.

Well, Abbie. Guess you’ll just have to wait until the next time you roll out of bed and a beautiful man hits on you. Should happen again, you IDIOT!

Once again, my hesitance had cost me. And I couldn’t help but feel like this time it cost me big.

Sagging into my seat, I continued to stare in his direction, watching those broad shoulders walk out of my life.

A sharp finger poked me in the shoulder, and I looked up from my seat on the L to see a woman in a bright pink, bubble-covered trench coat hovering over me. Her face was marred with unforgiving age and her teeth the color of a raincloud. I pulled out an earbud playing “Youth” by the Glass Animals before she spoke.