Page 30 of Naked Coffee Guy
“Except for the part where you’re practically begging him to end this, this is really good,” she says. At the same time, I’m realizing just how touchy-feely the text is.
I can’t send this. What was I even thinking? I quickly delete the whole thing and hear Claire’s audible gasp as I do.
“Maren, what the hell?”
I shake my head, the phone like a burning ember in my hand. I still want to reach out to him, but I am not about to spill my whole heart to him. So I do what I should have done to begin with.
Me: Hey.
“Way to open up there, Huerta.”
I glance up as Claire rolls her eyes, but then I look back at my phone, waiting to see what happens.
Underneath the text, the word delivered changes to read.
“Look,” I say, pointing to it. I place the phone in the center of the table so we both can wait for his response.
And wait.
We stare at that phone for at least five minutes, and nothing happens. No three dots to show he’s texting me back. No text at all. Just silence in a moment that feels more naked than his bare chest on an early morning coffee walk.
I look up at Claire and offer a tight smile. “And that’s why I’m not going to barf my feelings out to him.”
“He’s probably not answering because there is literally no way to respond to hey.”
“Um…he could text hey back,” I point out, and she rolls her eyes.
“Whatever. Just because he’s not texting back right away, it doesn’t mean anything.”
But I know it does. I know because if he texted me, I’d…
Well, I’d wait a bit so I didn’t seem overly eager, even though I would have read it right away.
“Okay, fine. It doesn’t mean anything, at least not yet.” I pick up my phone and slip it in my purse. “But if he hasn’t texted me back by tomorrow, I’ll have my answer.”
“He will,” Claire says, slipping the waitress her credit card as she waves off the few dollars I’m holding out to her. “You had a $2 soda, I got this.”
We leave the bar and head for her car when I realize I left my jacket on the back of my chair.
“Warm up the car, I’ll be quick,” I say, then jog back to Breakers before she can answer.
A couple are sitting at the table we were at, my jacket nowhere to be seen. I ask the waitress behind the bar if she’s seen it.
“Oh yeah, I stuck it in the back in case you returned. Hold on, I’ll get it.”
I look around while I wait, and a familiar face catches me off guard in the back of the bar. It’s Mac, and he’s not alone. My heart drops as I fully register the scene in front of me. Mac is dressed similarly to what he wore last night—a white shirt open at the top and black slacks. I can’t see the woman’s face, but judging from her salon blonde hair and expensive red dress with a side slit, I’d say she’s pretty much gorgeous. Mac is smiling, talking with animated hands, and it seems like our casual affair is the furthest thing from his mind.
We never said we couldn’t see other people. In fact, in the rules of being casual, it’s a given that we’re free agents.
So why does this hurt so bad?
“Here’s your jacket,” the waitress says, interrupting me from my creepy stalking. I turn and take it from her, inwardly telling myself to walk away and forget I even saw Mac.
But I can’t. I swivel back in their direction, watching to see just how serious this is.
The answer is immediate. He’s holding a jewelry box open and she’s leaning over it, her hand at her chest like she’s breathless from what she’s seeing.
Then Mac looks up, his eyes finding mine. And even from across the room, I can see he realizes he’s been caught. Is that even the right phrase? Because he doesn’t belong to me, and I don’t belong to him.