Page 1 of The Coffee Shop

Chapter One

LEENA

It’s four-forty-five in the goddamn morning and the alarm on my phone sounds more like an air raid siren than a chime. This happens every day, so it shouldn’t piss me off, but it does.

I grumble, push back the mess of tangled black hair from my face and roll onto my side, stretching out across my shitty twin sized bed in my shitty little apartment that I can barely afford, reaching out across a bed that is, once again,empty.

I think for a moment that I am getting too old to be waking up alone. How all the women I know are either moving on to their second husband or making their third baby by now. Hell, even my baby sister knows where her life is going.

I’ve tried to find a guy, or girl on occasion, but I have this tendency to only match with people who have beautiful faces, chiseled abs and a habit to satisfy themselves in under fifteen minutes without giving a girl a shot in hell for an orgasm. I’m so done with dating apps and disastrous one night stands, but I’m also not interested in the whole “long term relationship” thing. Perhaps that stems from the fact that I get bored tooeasily, or that no one has ever given me the attention that I,for some reason, feel that I deserve.

Or maybe I’m just too much of an asshole with trust issues to put up with anyone for more than a few weeks.

Everyone just seems to know where their life is going and it makes me feel… not as far alongon my path as I should be. But then I remind myselfwhymy life is the way it is. I was born into a family of fucking criminals. And even though I managed to get out of there, the fact that I have to move, change jobs, sometimes even change my name, makes a simple life, a normal relationship, just not possible. Not for me. But you know what, I’m fine with that. Really, I am.

Normalwas never my thing anyway.

I’m not sure whatmy thingactually is, but it’s definitely not staying home to make babies, having a nine-to-five, or sleeping with the same boring person every night for the rest of my life.

So I guess I’ll just keep doing what I’m doing until I figure it out.

What I need, is to unravel all this tension with a good fuck. I would even settle for a half decent orgasm, one that doesn’t come from the assistance of mylittle helperin the nightstand. Is it really asking that much to find someone who is willing to give out as much pleasure as they take?

Sometimes I fantasize about that. About finding someone who isn’t boring and who will make me feel something,anything. Maybe even someone who will still be here in the morning, ready and willing to go at it again. Someone who won’t get all sentimental about “what this all means,” or wonders “how soon until the wedding,” bythe third date.

Someone who can handle the shitstorm that is my life.

But that person is just a fantasy.Thatperson doesn’t exist.

I take a deep breath, then, letting out a sigh, I roll my naked ass out of bed, padding over to the bathroom to get ready for another day.

—

“Next in line!” I call out in my all too familiar, and all toofake,customer service voice. Looking up, I expect to meet yet another middle aged woman who is out for a midday “jog” in a pair of leggings that cost more than my salary, but that isnotwho I’m staring at.

Nope. Not even close.

I find myself staring at two very familiar faces. Ones that I would recognize anywhere, because they kind of stand out in a crowd. And by that, I mean these two men literally stand a foot taller than everyone in here. They are the kind of tall that would make anyone swoon, even if they weren’t hot. Butfuck, they are attractive. Like, Greek god gorgeous. They are the kind of beautiful that should be chiseled into a statue so that people can appreciate their bodies for years to come.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by them, or me, that half the people in here are currently staring at them. That fact shouldn’t bother me, but it does.

Why does that bother me?I wonder.

Hell,I’mstaring at them.

As they step up to the counter my heart jumps a little, same as it always does at the sight of them. The man with the short brown hair, Sebastian, is taller, but not bymuch. He is more bulky also, but that’s not to say that the other guy, Luke, isn’tmassive. I consider how both men must spend every second of their free time at the gym. That sort of muscle mass can’t come easily.

“Um, hi. How can I help you?” I stutter. They are regulars, like most customers here at the coffee shop, so I shouldn’t be this… frazzled. But I am.

Every Friday for the past year, they have come in, ordered the exact same thing and every single Friday, I pretend not to recognize them. Pretend that I don’t know their orders by heart, or their names, or which table they will sit at.

Act like I haven’t had dirty dreams about them more often than I care to admit.

It’s a good thing that I have their orders memorized, because I can’t focus on a word they are saying. Their effect on me is…annoying. I’m a twenty-eight year old woman for god’s sake, not some horny teenager. And yet, I can’t seem to put two thoughts together when they’re around.

“Good morning, Leena,” Sebastian murmurs, his deep voice and those striking deep blue eyes catching me off guard.

He knows my name?My stomach flutters.I look down sheepishly and catch a glimpse of my name tag. Bringing me back to goddamn reality.Right.

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