Page 1 of Infamous Heart

1

“I didn’t get the promotion,”I mumbled to the table.

I dropped my bomb in the middle of banter about Alejandro’s latest one-night stand, bringing the conversation to a halt. Cupping the large mug, the heat warmed my palms as I spun it about. The name of the coffee shop, Hideout, wrapped about the white ceramic cup. The spicy contents were already half gone when the call came in. I wondered if was possible to drown myself with only a half-filled cup.

Our table sat toward the back of the cafe where the only foot traffic was patrons heading to the bathroom. The three men grew quiet, seeming to stare off toward the black and white photography on the walls or the remaining croissant on the plate.

“Griff, they don’t deserve you,” Xander said.

“It’s okay, guys.” It was a lie. Nothing about that phone call had been okay. Not only had I not received the promotion, but Vincent had made it clear that I had reached my potential as a junior designer at the magazine.

“Fuck that,” Alejandro spat. “I don’t have an artistic bone in my body, and I can tell you’re good at your job. I have some whisky in my bag. Need me to top off your glass?”

“It’s seven thirty in the morning.”

“My night is just getting over. Why should I be the only drunk one at the table?”

Bernard patted him on the shoulder. “What our misguided friend is trying to say, shake it off. They haven’t respected you since you started working at the magazine. Maybe it’s time to find a job elsewhere?”

The Hideout had gone from an empty coffee shop on the corner to the hopping destination every morning. Unlike the bigger chains, it maintained a homey feel. The wooden chairs and tables contrasted the white of the walls. It was a narrow space, dominated by the coffee counter where Chad slung drinks as quickly as the patrons ordered them.

This was breakfast club and the men sitting at the table had become my adopted family. After meeting Bernard, the hunky teddy bear, at the local dive bar, he had invited me to morning coffee. Now, our daily ritual included Alejandro dishing about his latest conquest in the bedroom and Xander complaining about his job as a paramedic. Alejandro was getting off work from the nightclub where he tended bar while the rest of us were preparing to start our days. Lord knows I didn’t need to be spending the money, but it was a fair price to see this trio of troublemakers.

Xander tore into his bagel as if it he might not eat for days. His manners were questionable on a good day, but as he spoke with a mouth full of cinnamon bagel, I could tell he was about to bestow some of his overly aggressive wisdom.

“Fuck. Them. You should quit. Alejandro can get you a job at the club. Or,” he poked Bernard in the arm, “what about working public relations for the Centurions? Have you seen their graphics? Bernard’s team could use somebody with your talents.”

As usual, Xander paid a compliment and an insult in the same breath. Bernard rolled his eyes, a signature move that happened at least a dozen times when we met for morning coffee. Yet again, every person at the table questioned why they allowed Xander to join them.

“I mean…” Bernard started. Working for the premiere superhero team of Vanguard City, that wouldn’t be a bad gig. Working at a magazine dedicated to showing the behind the scenes of superheroes had been a dream come true. It was like living in a comic book, and every once in a while, I had the opportunity to meet one in the flesh.

“I could talk to the bosses.” Bernard played it cool, as if he wasn’t referring to himself. His face hid behind his coffee as he slurped at the sweet nectar. It was hard knowing that the big burly man was, in fact, one of the Centurions, a superhero dedicated to protecting the Earth. Bernard believed his secret identity safe, a complete mystery to the world. I don’t know about Alejandro and Xander, but I promised myself to never speak of it, not until Bernard was ready to come out of the spandex closet.

“It’s okay.” If I say it enough, perhaps I’ll believe it. The entire situation was frustrating. I loved working for the magazine, but it was difficult to be the lowest man on the totem pole. “Maybe I’m just not cut out for the art director position.”

It’s Alejandro who interrupts my pity party. “If you’re not going to believe it, then we’ll have to keep reminding you.” The three of them held up their coffee cups, waiting for me to join. They’re the best friends a guy could ask for, and they would remind me non-stop until I caved. I lifted my mug in the air.

“Oh, what are we cheering?” Chad, the owner of the Hideout, had a knack for showing up when the gossip flowed. He grabbed a nearby chair and shimmied in next to Alejandro.

“We’re celebrating Griffin getting his head out of his ass and realizing what an amazing guy he is.” Thanks, Xander, I think.

“Speaking of an amazing guy… Griffin. Dear, dear Griffin. There is a gentleman who comes here in the afternoon that…”

“Whoa, whoa,” Xander interrupts. “The last time you tried to set me up, they spent the entire date telling me about their mother’s crochet hobby. Chad, you make the best coffee in town, but you are not a match maker.”

“I don’t know about that.” Alejandro’s smirk spread across his lips. “Last man he introduced me to, I wound up having a good time. Had the rope burns to prove it.”

The coffee nearly shot out of my nose as I recalled the “morning report.”

“Didn’t he steal your wallet?” asked Bernard.

“It was worth every penny.”

Chad rested a hand on my knee. Leaning on the table, his face softened, the beard almost looking out of place. “Seriously though, you’re a catch, any guy would be lucky to take you home.”

The alarm on his phone went off and he jumped up, grabbing a thermos from the counter. Everybody at the table held their mugs with both hands in preparation. The door to the coffee shop flew open, and a blur moved through the space and exited before the breeze caught up to him.

Zipper. The local super made a pit stop every morning at the same time. Why the fastest man alive needed coffee was beyond me. None of the patrons in the coffee shop looked up, accepting the fact that a man able to run Mach five had just picked up his daily intake of java.

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