Page 9 of Marked

The humidity smacks me in the face when I step outside onto the sun baked patio. He’s watching me, cradling my cup in his left hand.

“I think you picked up my drink on accident,” I say when I reach his table.

“Did I?” He doesn’t even look at the cup.

“This one is yours.” I put his drink on the table, beside mine.

He twists the cup until he sees the name scribbled on the side. “Hmm. I guess so.” He drinks from my cup again.

“They’re making another for me,” I say, suddenly unsure how to have a conversation.

He pulls his sunglasses off, laying them on the table, while his eyes focus on mine.

I swallow.

He’s like something out of a magazine. A dusting of a beard is scattered across his jawline, like he forgot to shave this morning. His jaw, square and set firmly, gives him arugged look.

He’s wearing a black polo shirt, neatly tucked into a pair of jeans. The top button of the shirt is undone, and black ink swirls out from the opening.

“Harley.” He says my name like we aren’t meeting for the first time.

“Yes.” I clear my throat. “That’s my name.”

He puts my cup down. “I think your drink is ready. Why don’t you get your things and join me out here?”

I look through the window and see Jacob waving at me.

“I…uh…” I have a book. I usually spend an hour reading.

He reaches over the table, picks up my hand and squeezes.

“Get your things and bring them out here.” He squeezes again.

My mouth dries as I stare deeper into his eyes. I can walk away, but at the same time I can’t.

“All right.” I nod and he lets me go.

I pick up my drink from Jacob, who’s gone back to cleaning the steam machine, and then grab my bag and book from my corner table before going back outside. When I get to the table, Zack is on his feet, holding a chair out for me.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” I laugh a little.

“Hmm.” He pinches his lips together once I’m sitting, and he’s settled back in his seat. “What are you reading?” He picks up the novel resting on top of my bag and looks at the cover. “Little Women?” He quirks an eyebrow.

My face heats and I pluck it from his grasp.

“Yes.” I shove it into my bag and move it to the third chair at the table.

“You’ve never read it before?”

“Oh, no I have. I read it every year.” I snap my mouth shut.

“Hmm.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “You like it that much?”

Not really, but it was the book we last read together.

“It’s a good book.” I decide to stay neutral.

“But do you enjoy it?” he presses, leaning toward meenough that his shirt opens a bit more and even more of his tattoo is exposed.

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