Page 13 of David

No way.

Eww.

I practically drooled over him.

That is so, so stupid.

Trying not to draw more unnecessary attention to myself, I slowly shift my head and check my reflection in the wall mirror.

I look, um… casual.

Dark red hair, brown eyes, not an ounce of makeup.

My skin looks good, but my appearance is rather mousy, nothing to ignite the imagination of the stallion drinking iced coffee outside.

I’ve paired my favorite, comfiest gray sweatpants with a skintight white tank top almost entirely concealed by a baggy, off-the-shoulder black sweater. Flip-flops complete my look despite the pleasant but crisp air outside.

My hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and a few long bangs brush the side of my cheeks.

Nothing to see here, Mr. Fancy Suit.

It was probably a coincidence.

He couldn’t see me. There was no way.

He must’ve moved his eyes around the store without focusing on anything in particular.

Yet when I bring my eyes back, curious to see if he has left, I find him frozen in place, an arm folded across his chest, his phone pressed to his ear.

He’s not talking or enjoying his coffee––his drink sits on top of his ride––but rather listening to whoever is talking to him.

And he’s keeping his eyes on me.

On me??

Haha.

That’s ludicrous. I’m just being ridiculous.

To get him to turn his stare away from me, I close my laptop and push up, no longer looking at him.

I move a tense hand around my empty pocket and bite back some bad words.

Shit.

I left my wallet in the car. And my car is in the parking lot.

And to get there, I’d need to stroll past that man.

And it would look like I was doing it on purpose.

It would give him so much satisfaction after he caught me staring at him like it was going out of fashion.

And for what? Practically, nothing.

Stubbornly I search again. I know for sure I had a ten dollar bill in my pocket.

Why?

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