“What's your favorite?” I was flirting just to watch him squirm at this point. I couldn't decide if he was uncomfortable because he's gay or because he's straight, but either way it was too much fun to pass up.
“Hazelnut, heavy on the cream, and a touch of honey,” he responded without hesitation.
“Sounds perfect. I'll have that.”
“The, uh, pots are over there,” he said, pointing at a bank of coffee pots against one wall. He rang me up and handed me a ceramic mug emblazed with their logo, a coffee mug on wheels with speed lines coming from it.
After paying, I poured myself a cup of hazelnut coffee and prepared it just the way Kody had suggested, heavy on the cream, and with a touch of honey. I took a sip and turned to see that Kody was watching me closely for my reaction.
I made a face and exclaimed, “That's horrible! How can you drink this stuff?”
He looked shocked for a minute, before his expression turned to horror. He quickly started apologizing. “I'm so sorry. You don't have to drink it. Do you want something else? It'll be on the house.”
I laughed. “Kody, calm down. I was just kidding. It's really good.”
He jerked when I said his name as if someone had goosed him. He took a deep breath and released it slowly. “So you do like it?” he asked.
“Yeah, I really do.”
His face lit up with a smile that completely transformed him from cutie to hottie in under a second. I felt my breath catch in my throat and all I could think about was making him smile like that again.
“Can I get you anything else?” he asked and I realized that I was standing at the counter staring at him.
My brain was screaming at me to ask him out, but instead, I smiled and said, “No thanks. This is good.” I turned away and walked to what I now thought of as my table. I don't even know if he's gay, I reasoned with myself in a vain attempt to justify my cowardice. What was wrong with me? I'd never hesitated to ask a cute guy out before, even if I knew for a fact he was straight. “You never know” had always been my motto.
If I was honest with myself, though, I knew exactly why I hadn't said anything. I hadn't seriously dated anyone since rehab. I'd gone on a few dates, but they'd all pursued me and I hadn't let them get close. None of them had progressed past the second date. Why? The answer was simple -- I was afraid. If I got too close to someone, I'd have to tell them about my past and I was too scared to do that. I didn't want to have to face their reaction. My drinking and partying were only a small part of my shameful history.
I risked a look in his direction and found that he was still watching me. Our eyes locked for a second before we both looked away -- he pretending to clean behind the counter, me suddenly finding something infinitely captivating out the window. This is ridiculous. He obviously likes you so stop being a wuss. It doesn't mean you have to tell him anything. It's only one date.
I stood up with a sudden resolve and marched to the counter. My intentions were good, my timing was off. Kody looked up at my approach just as he was wiping up a small spill from a fresh carafe of coffee. He jerked back, his cleaning rag caught on the coffee pot handle, and it all went crashing to the floor, splashing Kody's legs with scalding hot liquid and making a huge mess. He yelped in pain and bit down hard on his lower lip.
“Are you okay?” I asked with concern. “I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to startle you.”
“You didn't,” he said between clenched teeth.
“Let me help clean it up,” I offered.
“No, it's okay. I'll get it.”
I ignored him and slipped behind the counter. He was still standing stiffly, gripping the rag tightly in his hand. “Did you burn yourself?” I squatted in front of him and reached for his pant-leg. He snatched his leg away. “I just want to make sure you didn't get burned.” This time, he let me lift the cuff of his pants far enough to see his skin. It was slightly reddened, but it didn't look too bad. “Well, my official diagnosis would be that you didn't get burned, at least not too badly.”
“Thanks,” he said in a rather breathless voice.
I looked around. “That's the good news. The bad news is the floor's a mess. Do you have a trash can for all this glass?”
He produced one from under the counter and crouched down next to me as I began picking up the larger shards of glass.
“You don't have to do this,” he said softly.
I looked over at him, catching his eye. “I know. I want to.”
He looked away. “Don't cut yourself.” We worked in silence for a few seconds, then he asked, “How'd you know my name?”
“That lady called you by name when she came in yesterday -- Kody with a `K'.”
“Oh.” Was it my imagination or did he sound a little disappointed? “That's Max. She's the manager here.”
“My name's Jake,” I told him. He looked at me sharply, no doubt remembering his “everything's Jake” comment. “No joke,” I assured him.
He gave me a crooked smile and I almost sliced my hand with a particularly wicked splinter of glass. “Hi Jake.”
I grinned back at him. “Hi Kody. I'd offer to shake your hand, but...” I held up my hand, which was dripping with coffee, and he giggled.
I took a deep breath and tried to summon my courage. Just ask him, my inner voice hissed.
“So, uh, would you like to...” I was interrupted by the bell that signaled the front door opening. Kody shot to his feet so quickly you would have thought a jolt of electricity had zapped him in the ass.
“What were you doing on the floor?” the woman I now knew as Max asked.
Kody opened and closed his mouth a few times, but nothing came out. I stood up too and her face became a comical mask of confusion. She looked back and forth between Kody and me, trying to put the puzzle together without the box top.
Before I could explain, Kody bolted through the office door, leaving me standing there looking guilty as hell. Max's face was growing redder by the second. It looked like I was going to have to talk my way out of this one -- and judging by the color of Max's face, I'd better talk fast.
Chapter 4
Breaking Masks
Josh Aterovis and Dave Dabeagle
© 2004
"Kody"
I don't understand why so many people feel the need to get coffee here in the morning. I know I'm not all that freaking happy to see them, so it can't be my cheery personality. I had dragged my sorry ass in at six o'clock and tried to mainline just caffeine -- screw the cream and sugar and whipped toppings, just give me go-go juice. All the bureaucratic shit heads who work up at the Alfred E. Smith building in their lame suits and conservative twill skirts showed up here. Thing is, no one is nice in the morning unless they are on medication. So why in God's name did I pick a place to work where I'd have to not only be a grouch but serve more bitchy people that I ever dreamed existed?
At least Saturday's were quieter, though it certainly didn't allow you to go out Friday night. Who was I kidding? Where was I going on Friday night? Maybe I could go down to the park and hang out with the winos.
This old crank shuffled in and made his way to the counter. He was a chronic bitcher. Every day he would come in and complain about something. One day the cups were too thin. Another day the tops weren't the right size for his cup. We called him the talking rug, because he had the world's worst hairpiece and the hair on top of his head was white midway down his skull. He wasn't fooling anyone.
I struggled to keep a straight face as he approached the counter. He had forgotten his hairpiece this morning and his bald pate glowed dully from the lights overhead. Wax on, wax off.
“Small coffee, please,” he said. I filled his order quickly, charging him the princely sum of one dollar and eighteen cents. After depositing the money, he began to turn away from me and I foolishly began to think that I would get away with no struggle from him today. I am such a dumb ass.
“What do you guys do to this coffee? It's hot enough to melt my teeth!” If h
e wanted iced coffee, why didn't he ask?
“Would you like me to put an ice cube in it for you?” I asked. The bell on the door jingled as he glared at me.
“The ice won't fit with how far you filled this cup. You have to pour this into a bigger cup first, and then add some. I don't want less coffee than I paid for. Why does it have to be so hot?”
I took his cup while mentally counting down from ten so that I didn't coat the oldster with his java. I poured it into a larger cup, added some ice, and handed it back to him with a smile. He turned and slowly made his way to the door without so much as a thank you.
Oh shit! He was back! Why was he back? The guy from campus, the one dad said…Oh yeah, the really hot straight guy from campus. I don't think he caught on that my blood pressure was a little elevated.
“Hi,” I said with as much cheer as I could muster. “You're getting to be a regular here.” Smooth, Kody, be so cool and smooth that he never gets a clue. He's bigger than you. He could kick your ass if he wanted to.
“What can I say? I like the company.” His smile was so good it was criminal. My pulse raced again and my nerves twitched involuntarily.
“So, uh, what can I get you?” I managed to say without too much stuttering, though I still played with the loose ends of my apron strings.
“Well, I've had the espresso and the double cappuccino with whipped cream. What would you suggest I try now? It can be anything as long as it has lots of caffeine. I didn't get much sleep last night.”
I'll just bet you didn't, probably balled that chick until she screamed for mercy. Of course, that image came to my mind and I pictured his sweat slicked body caught in the throes of passion. His tanned skin shone and his cheeks were flushed with the exertion of pleasuring his partner. The small groans and the short bursts of breath as a small droplet of sweat hung from his nipple….
“I, uh...we have some really good specialty blends,” I said to him as I tried to regain my composure. I don't think it was working, I felt like such a total dork!
“What's your favorite?” he asked me, adding in a crooked grin that made me very, very nervous. I continued to wrap the loose ends of my apron tie in my fingers in order to keep them busy.
“Hazelnut, heavy on the cream, and a touch of honey,” I replied without hesitation. Something I could say with out any form of thought involved!
“Sounds perfect. I'll have that.”
I rang up his purchase while directing him to the self serve pots. I handed back his change, noting the soft feel of his palm as my fingers grazed his skin. I gave him a large mug, though he had only paid for a small. Ok, so I undercharged him. Satisfied? I watched him as he went to make the coffee, pouring then adding a generous dollop of cream. My fingers were clenched tightly, bunching my apron into so much mangled cloth. He added the dollop of honey and used a swizzle stick to get it all mixed together. He took a sip and turned to face me slowly, his face contorting.
“That's horrible! How can you drink this stuff?”
Oh God! He hated it! Oh no, now what do I do? “I'm so sorry. You don't have to drink it. Do you want something else? It'll be on the house.” I blubbered like an idiot -- and I hated myself for it.
“Kody, calm down. I was just kidding. It's really good.” He laughed at my frantic state and I felt even dumber than I had to begin with.
“So, you do like it?” I asked as I felt my cheeks redden at being caught in his farce. Wait a second! Hold on! He said my name! He knew who I was!
“Yeah, I really do.” He replied with a smile. I returned that smile and felt tremendous. I did something he liked! He approached me slowly, coffee in hand and I began to shuffle my feet under his gaze. What was he doing? He walked all the way up to the counter and was only a few feet away from me by the time I spoke.
“Can I get you anything else?” I made a mental wish list of the things I could happily provide to him.
“No thanks. This is good.” He said to me and turned, walking away and dashing that stupid little bit of hope that had taken hold in me. I watched him as he moved back to the table in the corner -- the only one I had ever seen him sit at -- and sat down with his coffee.
I watched him. This fascinating blond guy had me head over heels. And why? I didn't know a thing about him. He could be a booger flicker. Or maybe he eats chocolate covered grasshoppers. I mean, I am sure he'd look nice eating them, sitting shirtless while he opened his mouth, spreading those lips and extending his tongue towards….
Oh shit! He looked this way! I turned my head and began to scrub the counter into submission. How much more of an imbecile can I be today -- flirting and fantasizing over a straight boy who is screwing with my head? So I have `gay boy that wants you' tattooed on my head? I didn't even know his name for crying out loud! I had a fresh pot of regular coffee going and I noticed a small spill. I pounced on it just as I caught movement out of the corner of my eye.
I looked up to see him only feet away again. I jumped, my hand jerking a little, and my cleaning rag caught on the handle of the pot, sending it -- and its hot contents -- crashing to the floor in spectacular fashion. Ow! That was hot!
I stood looking at him, trying to be stoic about the burning sensation on my legs, biting my lower lip so I didn't scream bloody blue blazes.
“Are you okay?” He asked with some degree of concern. “I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to startle you.”
“You didn't,” I said between clenched teeth. My macho act was getting easier as the burning started to settle down a bit.
“Let me help clean it up,” He offered.
“No, it's okay. I'll get it.” I replied hurriedly. Max would kill me and I didn't think him being so close to me was a good idea. Why can't he be a normal guy and just reject me and the fact that I exist? This would be so much easier to get over. He was stepping behind the counter! The counter was my domain, my bulwark against the teeming unwashed masses of the general public.
“Did you burn yourself?” He asked while kneeling down and reaching for the cuff of my khakis. I jerked away in surprise. What? Was he thinking of being a doctor? Maybe a veterinarian?
“I just want to make sure you didn't get burned.” He said with a trace more of compassion. I stood still while he lifted my pant leg a bit, feeling woefully inadequate in the leg department at the moment.
“Well, my official diagnosis would be that you didn't get burned, at least not too badly.” He said, and I said thank you. Well, I tried but I was too keyed up with him close enough to touch, and kneeling in front of me to boot. If he had touched my leg I would have fallen over. Does anyone know what an aneurysm feels like?
“That's the good news. The bad news is the floor's a mess. Do you have a trash can for all this glass?” I nodded dumbly and grabbed one from the dispenser under the counter. I bent down with the opened bag and began to help grab the large pieces of the broken carafe. I don't know why he was still back here. He didn't cause the mess. My own dorky self did that. But it was nice.
“You don't have to do this,” I whispered.
He caught my gaze. “I know. I want to.”
Oh God. His eyes are so beautiful! I looked away quickly, feeling a blush coming on. “Don't cut yourself.” I told him, for lack of something better to say. I screwed up my courage to try and make some better conversation with him.
“How'd you know my name?” I asked. My imagination was running full gallop. He was a computer hacker and had stolen my files from the school! No, he had come in and complimented me to Max or Marla, being vague enough that they offered candidate's names for whoever had served him so well. He had found out my name so he could ask me out!
“That lady called you by name when she came in yesterday -- Kody with a `K'.”
All those little pipe dreams fell to pieces. “Oh, that's Max. She's the manager here.”
“My name's Jake,” he said to me. I looked up at him so fast my neck cracked. I had just said to him yesterday that everything was Jake when he asked me h
ow I was. Was he screwing with me?
“No Joke,” he grinned. Did he remember what I had said the day before? He was smiling innocently so I smiled shyly in return, “Hi Jake.”
“Hi Kody.” He continued to smile at me, “I'd shake your hand but...” he held out his coffee drenched hand and I giggled.
“So, ah, would you...” he began, but the question was left unasked as the bell chimed to announce a customer. I bolted to a standing position only to come face-to-face with Max, who was rapidly closing the distance to the counter.
“What were you doing on the floor?” She asked. Oh my god! I was behind the counter with a customer who happened to be the hottest guy I can think of and my manager walked in. I am so fired! She is going to write me up and fire me!
Breaking Masks Page 6
