Page 17 of How to Deal

The next morning, I get up super early to work out, swing by Target and get a doormat for Tathan, and then replace it.

It’s finally Friday, and while I’m excited for the weekend, caffeine needs to happen before I can even think about getting through the day. I know I said I spend most of my day getting coffee orders, but I need it myself, only I’m not about to drink the crap I serve the assholes at work.

My usual stop on the way to work is a small café in Scottsdale that serves the most amazing, creamy mochas you’ll ever taste in your life. There’s always a line out the door, and their chocolate croissants are easily a pastry I will stab you for. Which is why I work out every morning because there’s like a thousand calories in it. Not really, but I’m sure it’s pretty close to that.

Giggles and sighs catch my attention at the counter in front of me once I make it through the outside line and finally in the building.

When I peek around the crowd, I see the cashier is paying way too much attention to her current customer, and she just slipped him her number written on the outside of his coffee cup.

How tacky can you be? What’s wrong with women these days? They throw themselves at men and expect them to have respect for them. How? They see the way you act and figure they can get away with that too.

“Seriously, some people need to get to work. This isn’t eHarmony, speed it up, assholes,” I say, loud enough for her and her current eye candy to hear me.

As Zane would say, she’s clearly missing the olive in her martini judging by the way she keeps tossing her platinum blonde hair around.

If she keeps that shit up, her brain will fall out with all the whipping she’s doing. And then she won’t be able to make my coffee, and that will really piss me off.

The man at the counter turns to face me—he definitely heard what I said. That’s when I see his profile, and I smile to myself. Of all the fucking luck. Can you guess who it is?

You’re probably right. But if not, it’s Tathan standing there in all his morning glory with his next harem girl drooling over his appearance. Goddamn, but he looks good first thing in the morning. All bright-eyed and cheery, but still pulling off the manly ruggedness. His smile widens when he notices me, and suddenly, he’s the only one in the building I can make eye contact with, his presence captivating.

I’m smiling, not only because he is, but also because I interrupted his love connection with the barista, and it makes me extremely happy to know I broke it up. Sadistic I know.

Tathan gives me a once-over, a thorough glance up and down my body, and I suddenly feel very self-conscious, even though I am far from that. I know I have a great body because I work damn hard for it—despite the mocha and chocolate croissants—and I’m not the type of girl who gets self-conscious. If you don’t like my booty and size C tits, fuck off. I didn’t ask for your opinion, did I?

His jaw tightens, and he turns back to the barista and whispers in her ear. Apparently not hearing what she wants, she shoots me a dirty look and turns around to write something down. What the fuck did I do to her? See, this is the problem with chicks. They’re so fucking moody and catty. Just because he looked at me, she suddenly hates me and will more than likely not warm my damn croissant to the perfect temperature like I like it.

With his own cup of coffee in hand, Tathan walks past me, but stops as his shoulder bumps into mine softly. With a gentle breath that blows warmth over my cheek, he leans in, his lips dangerously close to my ear. I draw in a deep breath that sounds like a wind tunnel.

Do I flinch back like I should? No, hell no, my damn knees are weak. I stand there, jelly legs and all, like a fucking idiot waiting in front of the lion who’s stalking his prey.

“See you at work, Amalie,” he says, eyes twinkling as he walks away.

Momentarily I’m stricken by his good looks again. Stricken stupid apparently because I have absolutely nothing smartass to say to him.

What’s happening to me?

Should I call in sick?I need time to think.

After being pushed from the lady behind me, I finally awake from my daydream—the one of us being zipped in a sleeping bag together in the farthest reaches of the Antarctic with nothing but the warmth of our bodies keeping us alive. It’s a great dream.

At the counter, I whisper, “Tall mocha and a chocolate croissant warmed.”

The girl, remember. . . the one Tathan was flirting with? She barely even acknowledges me. She does, however, get my mocha and croissant and slides it across the counter. “Here you go.”

I hand her a ten-dollar bill.

She shakes her head. “Tathan took care of it.”

Tathan took care of it? I shift my weight from one foot to the other, still holding out my money. “He did what?”

She looks at me like I’mthatdumb. “He bought your coffee, ma’am.” She motions for me to move out of the way. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to help this customer behind you.”

He bought my coffee. Damn it. I’m trying to hate him, and here he is being nice and friendly to me.

“Well, thank you.” I give the ten dollars to the man behind me. “Your coffee’s on me, dude.”

Pay it forward, right?

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