Page 38 of Cream & Sugar
Maybe coming in was a stupid idea after all. I need to get this crush, or whatever it is, under control. Exposure therapy clearly isn't the answer.
There’s a hiss from behind the counter and I look over to see Freddie steaming a jug of milk. His brows are knitted with concentration, the long muscles of his forearms twitching as he monitors the temperature of the jug. My eyes follow a thick vein that snakes its way up his arm before vanishing beneath the short sleeve of his T-shirt. His black tee is snug around his frame, showing off the lean body he flaunted so confidently in his interview.
Freddie’s abs materialise in my mind again, a perfectly preserved memory. Sometimes I have trouble remembering my own phone number, but recalling Freddie’s body in picture-perfect detail? No problem, apparently.
As I watch him work the coffee machine, still images from last night’s dream resurface and suddenly all I want to do is press my body against his and kiss him, taste him, blaze a trail down his neck with my tongue while he gropes my—
And I’m hard again. Of course.
Fuck, this is exhausting. It’s like a switch has flipped in my brain and given me the libido of a much younger, much hornier, and much gayer man. I can’t remember ever feeling like this before—even with Lara, there was never this feeling of uncontrollable, burning hot lust. And definitely not sofast.Now this spark is tempting me, luring me into the unknown like a candle in the dark. Scary, yes. Exciting? I suppose. But above all, it’s a colossal pain in the arse.
I wish it was as easy as flipping the switch back off because whateverthisis—man crush, sexual reawakening, or complete and utter mental breakdown—is a whole new level of stress. Sure, I wasn’t happy before either, but at least I was sad in my comfort zone. Now I’m in a pressure cooker with no way to let off steam. Well, besides the obvious, but there’s no coming back once you’ve crossed that line. Even if it might relieve some stress, he’ll forever be the co-worker I thought about while I—
Freddie bangs the milk jug on the countertop, the noise snapping me out of my reverie. He swirls the jug a couple of times before banging it again, getting rid of any excess milk bubbles, just like I showed him. With surgical concentration, he pours the steamed milk into a cup before standing back to admire his work. From here, I can’t tell if he’s hit the mark or not. I’m not expecting perfection, but hopefully it’s not a total disaster.
Apparently satisfied, he picks up my order and begins heading my way.
My heart flutters as Freddie approaches my table. At the last second, I scoot my chair forward to better hide my bulging crotch.
“Here you are, sir!” He’s back in character, acting like we’re strangers. “A flat white and a slice of the best flapjack in the known universe. I hope you enjoy it.”
Freddie slides the coffee and flapjack in front of me. The flat white looks presentable—still a long way to go, of course, but a million times better than yesterday.
“Someone’s been practicing,” I say, raising the cup to my lips.
“My boss is a good teacher.”
Smiling, I take a sip. Whether by fluke or not, he’s got it to almost exactly the right temperature. The ratio of milk to espresso is spot on and even though there’s no art on top, the crema and microfoam have swirled together in ripples the colour of butterscotch.
Shit, this is a good cup of coffee!
“Delicious!” I exclaim, licking my lips.
Freddie’s eyes widen. “Seriously?”
I nod. “Completely. Looks like we’ll make a barista out of you yet!”
He looks delighted, and I’m not even sugar-coating it for him; he made a presentable flat white all by himself! That’s seriously impressive for his third day on the job and a far cry from the liability he was yesterday. I had to chain Kyle to the till for a whole week before letting him loose on the coffee machine, for his protection and mine, but it seems Freddie might be a natural.
Using my napkin, I pick up the slice of flapjack and break it in half.
“Want some?” I hand the larger half to Freddie.
“Sampling the merchandise?” Freddie asks as he accepts the flapjack and takes a big bite. His eyes go wide as dinner plates. “Holyshit!”
I glance nervously at the man sitting at the nearby table. His nose is buried in a book and thankfully he didn’t seem to register Freddie’s outburst.
“Whoops,” Freddie says, thickly. He chews and swallows before lowering his voice to a whisper. “Sorry, but that’s like the most banging thing I’ve ever had in my life!”
I roll my eyes, feigning modesty even though I know full well my flapjacks are the bomb.
Freddie takes another bite. “Mmm. Seriously, how do you make it taste like that?”
“I’ll teach you next shift, if you like?” My voice comes out nervous, like I’m asking him on a second date. I clear my throat. “We usually batch bake every couple of days. Tomorrow I was going to come in early if you’re up for another morning shift?”
“How early?” Freddie asks through a syrupy mouthful of apple and oats.
“Um…” I quickly work out some timings in my head. “How about 6am? Anna’s working the afternoon so you can leave at 11 once she’s in. That okay?”
