Page 11 of Naked Coffee Guy

My treasured orange couch and dining room table were donated to a non-profit for the shelterless. Hopefully they would be a welcome addition to someone’s much-needed home. I donated most of my clothes too, since the closet in my new room is behind a single door. Pots and pans, dishes and silverware, cooking utensils…all gone. Nina said they weren’t necessary, since her grandmother’s house had all these things.

I couldn’t keep them if I wanted to. Between her grandmother’s old furniture and Nina’s clothes and belongings covering every surface, there just wasn’t space. And the room I’m in now? It’s large enough for me, a bed, a few favorite outfits, and all my guitars lined up on the wall.

I feel kind of like I did the first day I moved into my apartment. I don’t have the same awe at having my own place…because I don’t…but I definitely have the same amount of things to my name—practically zero.

As for Mac? I think of him every day. Mostly to think of all the ways I could unalive him, or maybe just give him a violent case of Montezuma’s revenge. I hope he’s miserable in his mansion, haunted by all the “choices” he’s made that have ruined innocent people’s lives.

But in quiet times, I remember the way he kissed me. How he looked at me. How he felt pressed against my body. Sometimes when I’m alone at night, my swirling fingers undoing the ache in my core, I think I can even smell him.

I haven’t dated since that night. It’s only been a month, so I’m hardly a saint. But in the past, I at least had Brock to fill that space, and no thank you.

It’s more than that though, and I can’t deny it. The connection we shared was something I’d never experienced before, and now I’m unsure I’ll ever feel it again. That’s what hurts the most. I let my guard down with him. I saw someone I trusted. And just when I entertained the idea of this going beyond that night, of maybe even being something that had lasting power, I learned that I never really knew him at all.

I obviously can’t trust myself around guys. So, for now, I’m swearing off all men and focusing on me.

Also focusing on how I can make Nina’s house feel more like a home, because goddamn, that girl has clutter.

I roll out of bed, stretching my aching muscles before padding down the hall to the kitchen. Nina’s dirty dishes are all over the sink, and I push them aside as I search for the coffee pot. Eventually I locate it in one of the cabinets, along with a canister of coffee. I pour a generous amount of grounds in the filter, fill it with water, then flip the switch and wait until I’m holding a steaming cup of coffee in my hand. I look in the fridge and see that Nina prefers dairy to my usual almond milk. I decide a creamy cup is worth the stuffy nose the dairy will give me, and finally enjoy my first sip.

Heaven.

I look out the window of my new neighborhood, each sip breathing new life into my tired body, when I notice someone outside in the dim morning light. I peer closer, my eyes widening at the sight of his bare feet and naked chest. Oh goddess, this is Naked Coffee Guy! Nina has been talking about this guy all month long, so much that I feel like I’m seeing a celebrity. From far away, I can make out the dark shading of tattoos that snake up his arms and splay across his chest. He moves with purpose, no sign of discomfort as each bare foot lands on the rough asphalt. As he approaches the front of our house, I can see the steam rising off the top of his cup of coffee, which he sips periodically as he walks. But now that he’s closer, his features become clearer. Specifically, his long beard.

A beard I’ve run my hands through, have dreamed about for a month. A beard that’s been the star player in so many of my late-night solo fantasies.

Holy fuck. It’s Mac.

It hasn’t even been a full day in this neighborhood, and he’s here, wrecking my sense of home. Yet, as horrified as I feel about his intrusion, my core flutters with excitement, as if she’s finally going to get some.

“Down, girl,” I mutter. But I can’t look away. The muscles in his chest flex with each step, and his perfect washboard abs are like a ladder down to the bulge filling out his loose shorts. His arms are massive, and I can just imagine what it would feel like to run my hands along the hills and valleys of his biceps while he leans over me, lifting my legs, thrusting…

“Oh, I see you’ve met Naked Coffee Guy,” Nina says, peering past me. I jump back, surprised at her cat-like entrance. “I thought I’d missed the show.”

We both watch him stroll past our house, hiding behind the curtains anytime it looks like he’ll peer over at the kitchen window. I note the movement of curtains at the house across the street, and same with the one down the way. The guy obviously has a fanbase. For a moment, I forget myself, feeling a bit of haughty pride that I’ve kissed this Viking god, and they all wish they had.

Then the final details of that night slam into me, and I feel angry all over again. I push away from the window, offering Nina the better view of Mac’s backside retreating down the street.

“He’s all right,” I say, and Nina whirls around, a look of shock on her face.

“Maren, I’m beginning to think you hate men as a species. That man is not just all right. He’s fine as fuck. You wish you could nab a hottie like that instead of wasting your time on guys who manage your rent, then kick you out of your home.”

I snort into my coffee, and she grins like she’s said something funny. I know she’s referring to Brock, but she has no idea how ironic her words are. I obviously have a type. I like men who screw me financially, not just literally.

I know I can’t tell Nina about Mac, especially since I now know he’s our hot neighbor. But I can tell Claire. And I do when I’m at Claire’s house after my barista shift, an hour before Finn is supposed to come home, which gives us free rein to talk openly.

“He’s Naked Coffee Guy?” Her eyes widen, and I can tell she believes this is good news, even though she knows he’s a dipshit.

I’d told Claire about Mac early on, once I’d secured a place at Nina’s house. I knew once Claire found out my lease was ending, she’d offer me a place in her home. And sure enough, she was ready to pack up her craft room and give it to me. While living with Claire and her family would be infinitely more fun than living with Nina, I couldn’t put her out like that. Claire was a highly sought-after book swag artist, and that craft room was her livelihood.

While she finally accepted the fact that I “chose” Nina over her, she couldn’t get over that magical night I’d shared with Mac—even though he’d fooled me into thinking he was some insightful, down-to-earth charmer. Oh, he was charming all right.

“You see? It’s fate, Maren.” She takes a bite of the pastry I brought her, this time a Danish with sweet cream in the middle. “Wow, that’s good. I’d have to buy looser pants if I were surrounded by these all day.”

Ethan strolls in and nabs the pastry from her hands before she can take another bite, then takes his own huge bite.

“Hey!” Claire tries to grab it back, but laughs as he pulls it out of reach. See, that’s the difference between Claire and me. She laughs when someone messes with her food. I’d stab them with a fork.

“Here, you can have his,” I say, mock glaring at Ethan. He shrugs, then grins, his mouth full of Danish as we protest the grossness. He’s all sweaty after his workout, and leans his soaked chest against Claire as he kisses her.