Page 6 of Naked Coffee Guy
Holy hell, the things this man could do to me.
And he’s tall! I stand 5’11” in my four-inch heels, and he towers over me like I’m a sapling and he’s a redwood, his broad shoulders blocking my view of the rest of the room. He’s doing things to my insides by just standing there, his eyes sweeping over me as if they alone could undress me.
“Sorry ’bout that. Can I get you another?” he asks.
He doesn’t look sorry. He looks like he could devour me. I’m losing myself in his hooded eyes, swimming in the deepest blue of them while my fingers tingle, wanting to run my hands though his beard and then tug until his lips are on mine. Then his question registers and I realize I’ve been standing there like a shell-shocked lunatic, staring at him while he waits for me to respond. Even more, I realize my own lusty feelings are muddying my perception. This guy probably isn’t into me. I just want him to be.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
“No, I don’t drink,” I stammer, feeling my cheeks go red as he glances at the stain. “I mean, I haven’t for years. Tonight is just…” I look to the floor, noting some droplets of wine that have dried on my boots. “It’s just been a bad day, and I almost made a terrible mistake.”
He places his hand on my shoulder, and I am both thrilled and appalled that he is this close to me, touching me. Does he not know the effect he has on me? On anyone in this room? Is there even a room around us? What is life?
He studies me for a moment, and I find myself studying him right back. He feels familiar to me, even though I’ve never seen him before in my life. But I’m comfortable in his presence, in a way I’ve never felt with any man before. Like we knew each other in a past life. I note a question in his eyes, and I wonder if he’s feeling the same way. But then his face breaks into a wide smile. Fuck me, that smile. If I thought he was gorgeous before, now I just want to wrap myself around him.
“I’m Mac,” he says.
Mac. Such a simple name for someone who’s suddenly bigger than the sky.
“Maren,” I return.
He nods, his hand remaining on my shoulder as he looks me in the eyes. And when I say looking, I mean no one has looked at me this way. Not a single person. It’s like he can see inside me, see my thoughts and feelings as if they were items to be treasured.
“Maren,” he repeats, and my name in his mouth makes me feel a little weak-kneed.
This is not normal. I’m the queen of casual, usually the pursuer, and never one to swoon over anyone. And here I am, swooning.
He removes his hand from my shoulder, then tugs at the back of his neck. For a moment, I see the struggle in his face, like he’s in two different places in me. Then his eyes return to mine, and his face softens.
“Well, Maren. I’m having a bad day too. I came here to forget, but then I ran into you. I don’t think it was a mistake, and neither was your decision to be here.”
“I almost fucked up my sobriety.”
“But you didn’t,” he points out. “There aren’t mistakes, there are choices. Today, both of us came here because of a choice. Just like years ago, you made a choice to not drink, and today you made that same choice.”
“I think you made it for me.” I breathe out a sarcastic laugh, waving my hands over my shirt. “If I weren’t wearing this drink, I’d probably be three sheets to the wind by now.”
He shrugs. “Maybe. But the Universe has a funny way of stepping in when we feel our weakest.”
I snort at this, breaking the spell as I step away. The Universe steps in? Is that why I’m getting kicked out of my apartment?
“You’re sweet,” I say, “but also a little naïve if you think there are magical forces looking out for my best interest. If what you’re saying is true, I’d love to speak with this Universe and tell it to mind its own business, because my life is a mess.”
“Fair,” he says, but I note the amusement in his eyes. This guy is talking about the Universe and divine intervention, and he thinks I’m the one without a clue. “Can I get you a drink to replace the one I spilt on you?” he asks, then adds, “I’m getting myself a soda water with a lime and a splash of tonic. Would you like one, too?”
“I’d love one.”
We end up talking all night in a private lounge area, even as the temperature drops and the people around us get more wasted by the hour. Even as my glass of soda water with a splash of tonic—delicious, by the way—stays empty in my hand. Even as he takes my glass and sets it aside, then smoothly slides his hand over mine and doesn’t let go. I’m half in the conversation and half absorbed by the warmth of his hand and how it covers mine completely. I’ve never felt safer or more understood in my life.
We talk about everything and nothing. I share that my favorite band in the whole world is Paramore, I could eat sushi every day of my life and never grow sick of it, and I haven’t seen my parents or sister since I was a teenager. He tells me he was vegan for a few years until he broke his meat fast with a cheeseburger, that the only movie that has ever made him cry was Gladiator, how his parents died in a car accident when he was young, and how he was in the foster system for years until he finally ran away. Then he found Benji.
“He was old when he took me in,” Mac says, “but so was I. Fifteen, three years away from reaching adulthood, and not a clue about how to be an adult. And this old man saw something in this angry teen and decided to give me a home.”
He smiles, but it’s tinged with something somber. Suddenly it’s clear why Mac believes in the Universe. But choices?
“You say there aren’t mistakes, only choices. But what about your parents? I’m sure it wasn’t your choice to never know them.”
“True,” he says, “and I was angry about that for a long time. But Benji taught me that sometimes the choice is what we do with circumstances, and how we’ll move forward. My reality was that I spent years in the system, which meant shuffling from house to house, not all of them great. Then I lived on the streets, fighting my way to survival. My choice was to let that become my identity and remain angry, or to take what I’d learned from those years and change my present and future.” Mac squeezes my hand. “I chose the latter, and it’s a choice I have to make every day to keep from letting the demons win.”