Page 8 of Just Another Silly Love Song
“Yes. It does. Because I haven’t talked to her in years.”
“Hey—time flies and I’ll be the first to admit that I have a couple of friends that I haven’t talked to in almost a year.”
“We’re not talking a year here.”
“Even two to three years is not that uncommon.”
I just stared at him.
He studied me and then cocked his head to the side. “Five years? Ten?”
I hesitated and winced. “Twenty-five.”
He glared daggers at me. “Seriously?”
“I’ll just . . . uh . . . back out now. Take the spot. It’s yours.” I raised my window, stuck my car in reverse, and avoided eye contact as I drove away. I looked for another parking spot, which happened to be the farthest possible spot from the front door. Getting out of the car, I speed-walked toward Peet’s Coffee and entered, coming to a screeching halt.
There were at least ten people in front of me in line.
Maybe twelve.
I would surely be late if I stood in that line and waited.
“Just wonderful . . .” I glanced at my watch and then leaned to the side to view the people in the line, wondering where Mr. BMW was.
Should I pretend I was with him, so I could skip the line and order faster? The answer to that question didn’t matter since he wasn’t even in line. He must have already ordered.
Sure enough, there he was, standing by the drink pickup window.
“Ben!” the barista called out.
The man thanked the barista, grabbed the two coffees from the counter, and walked toward me on his way out.
I tried to ignore his approximately six-feet-tall frame, solid build, and cognac-brown eyes. He radiated confidence in the way he moved in his designer jeans and black polo shirt.
Heck, even his smile was designer.
I needed to stop gawking and not forget that I would have been leaving at that moment if the man hadn’t stolen my parking spot.
He stopped and smiled. “I know what you’re thinking.”
“You said men weren’t mind-readers.”
He chuckled. “Sometimes we get lucky.” He handed me one of the cups in his hands. “You have yourself a nice evening.” He smiled and walked toward the door.
I swung around. “What’s this?”
“Your mocha.” He winked and walked out.
I stood there, dumbfounded, watching Ben get into his car and drive away.
Why did men appear more attractive when they were being nice?
He could’ve just bought his own coffee like I expected and then given me a smug smile as he passed me on his way out. I was rarely surprised by men, but I have to admit that this guy had just shocked the hell out of me.
I glanced down at my drink and froze.
Goosebumps traveled up my face and ears.
