Page 2 of King

The barista nods and turns around before her blonde coworker smiles towards me. I open my mouth to speak but it’s not my voice I hear.

"Two double espressos."

I turn around to see a woman in a white pantsuit holding up two manicured fingers.

You've got to be fucking kidding me.

The blonde barista nods and turns around to get the order while I’m left to stand there. More people in suits push me from side to side, yelling their orders at the baristas who continue to ignore me.

I try my hand at their tactic, yelling towards them, “A glazed donut please!” No one even glances my way so I try again. “Glazed donut!”

I’m nudged to the side once more, this time by another leather jacket. “One large Americano. Shot of espresso.”

The boy next to me is nowhere near as old or as corporate looking as the rest of the people standing at this counter. He has a couple of feet on my height, giving him the extra advantage of getting noticed. I look down at his shoes, but the leather on his feet don’t show a platform.

“Fuck,” I mutter, my arms slapping against my thighs. “All I want is a glazed fucking donut.”

I hear his voice again. It’s low, smooth like he’s not a care in the world. “And whatever it is this…Gwen Stefani wannabe is yelling about.”

I look up to see light blue eyes looking back, though they look like they’ve got a hint of grey. They’re glossy under thick dark eyebrows, and I can make out a swoop of matching hair under his grey hoodie. He turns his attention away from me without another word. Resting his elbows on the glass counter, he leans against it with a small stagger.

My eyes wander over his outfit, black fitted jeans adding to his dark aesthetic. The contents of my trashbag are similar, all black, but his clothes look ten times more expensive than mine.

His face gives off the young model vibe. Slender, smooth and chiselled. I stop myself from twirling my hair like a basic bitch as I watch a tattooed hand pull a silver coin from his back pocket. It shows off a nice ass but it doesn’t help me decipher how old he might be. His face tells me he shouldn't be much older than me. But the wideness of his body gives the impression of a college quarterback.

Whatever the age, this guy’s smoking hot. If he’s nice enough to take my order, I should at least start up some conversation.

I clear my throat, leaning towards him. “You meant the good Gwen Stefani right? From the nineties?” I belt out the first couple lines from No Doubt’s “Don’t Speak", not caring that some people finally notice me.

He stops the coin mid-spin between his fingers before he starts turning his head towards me. He meets my gaze and the way his eyes trail from my Docs to my head sends a shiver right through me. When they land on my eyes my body jolts to attention.

I tilt my head to the side. His eyes look more grey this time, matching his outfit but there's still a hint of blue. They're deep-set and mesmerizing, his gaze intensifying by the second. Like staring at rare gems, it’s hard to look away.

“Americano, shot of espresso and a glazed donut?” The barista’s voice pulls his gaze away and I already miss it. She pushes a tall white cup and a white pastry bag towards him. He doesn't thank her, just takes them before he turns to walk away, donut in hand.

I look back at the barista, baffled before I follow him down the shiny passageway. “Hey!” He doesn’t stop so I call again, “Hey! Dude!” I see him make a turn and I follow, my boots thudding against the floor.

I turn the corner before I slam into something hard. “Oomph!”

When I take a step back, Hot Donut Guy has the white bag out to the side, crumpled top hanging from his grip. A smirk pulls at his bow-shaped lips before he asks, “Coming to thank me?”

I take a look around. We’re in a small hallway with what looks like a supply closet at the end, away from any traffic. I reach for the bag before I correct him, “I was.”

He pulls the bag back and I miss, but he takes a step closer, the air catching in my throat. I try to swallow but my mouth is dry, the scent of peppermint, pine and musk filling my nose. His scent is as intoxicating as his presence. And his breath.

“Why haven’t I seen you around?” His eyes fall to my lips. “I’d remember you.” He moves a little closer, and I confirm the strong smell of booze is coming from him. "You don't look like a wine and dine kind of girl—so, do you want to thank me here or are public bathrooms more up your alley?"

"Excuse me?" I arch an eyebrow, my eyes narrowing at his gaze.

He chuckles. It's low and rolling, almost seductive. It makes something tighten in my stomach. “You’re not from around here.”

“Well, I am now.” I reach for the bag again but he raises it higher. Dropping my hands to my sides, I square up with him. “What? Is being from Eden Gardens some prerequisite to get a donut?”

“Do they not have manners where you’re from?” He takes a step back before taking a sip from his cup, his eyes on me the whole time. "I’m sure we can come up with a few ways to thank your new king.”

I raise an eyebrow. “King?”

Is this guy serious?

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