Page 4 of Elusion

The place is crowded for so early on a Monday, almost every seat with a body in it. I scan the tables up front without luck. A few more steps in, and my eyes catch on a red coat slung over an empty chair in the back. I would bet my life a pair of blue eyes accompanies the brunette one seat over.

I take advantage of a lull at the counter and mull over opening lines while the barista fetches my order. At a gig, meeting girls requires minimal output on my part—eye contact, a slight nod, smile as I set down my guitar, and then I walk past her and wait for her to find me. Foolproof. Any work outside of that, and I bail.

“Hey, Jordan, love the winter wear.”

A nod thanks the person following the band’s social media. A few more peek up from their tables as I breeze through.

Yes, that is me wearing a towel.

I recognize the friend with her red hair pulled back from a young face. Eighteen, nineteen at most.

The perfect line hits me, and I slide into the last empty chair at their high-top table. “The craziest thing happened to me this morning, let me tell you.”

I sip my coffee and watch the girl over the top of the lid. Dark layers frame her face as vivid blue eyes focus on her cup. She looks older than the friend, more mature. Her lips press together, suppressing a smile. A challenge I accept.

“So, as I was saying…” I turn in my chair to talk to the friend. “My temper got the best of me over the weekend, and I broke something that wasn’t mine. Even though I replaced the drum, my buddy chose to punish me. Consequently, I ended up running around campus, wearing nothing but a towel, trying to find someone to kiss me in under five minutes.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I check on her but only find pretty eyes blinking. Damn, she roughs up the ego. The friend, on the other hand, giggles and gives the reaction my performance deserves.

“See, Callie? I told you there was a good reason.”

And I have a name. Callie. Unreadable, beautiful Callie.

The friend is my in.

“Officially, I’m Jordan Waters. And you are?”

“Felicia. Felicia Gibson,” she says. “This is Callie Henders.”

I look back to Callie and present her with the hat and scarf from my pocket. “I believe these belong to you.”

“Thank you.” She tucks them in her coat.

“Thank you for not letting me die of hypothermia.”

A polite smile is her only response, and she returns to staring at her cup. She wants nothing to do with me, so it’s time to retreat and lick my wounds. I scrape the chair over the linoleum, loudly announcing my exit. Everyone in the vicinity grimaces at the sound with one exception. Callie rewards me with a genuine smile.

Mission accomplished. Even though it only lasts a second.

“Ladies.” I pause next to her, and she looks up. “I want youto know that I plan on being fully clothed for all futureencounters.”

A catcall and three fist bumps from strangers later, I push out the door.

Johnny remains unmoved, eyes on his phone when I return to the Jeep. “Pic has been retweeted, reposted, shared, liked, hearted, and made into a meme. This chick and her coconut hat added a hundred followers in twenty minutes.”

“Callie,” I say.

“What?”

“Her name.”

“Well then, Callie, wherever you are, sweetheart, thank you.” He jerks his head around, confused. “Where the hell arewe?”

I chuckle, pulling into the street, and chance a glance out the window, toward the coffee shop.

No hat.

No blue eyes.

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