Page 4 of Stranger Session

I take his payment and get to work on his order. As I grasp the lid and place it over the cup, my hand slips and I spill hot coffee all over myself. The apron catches most of it, but the hot liquid scalds my arms. I bite my lip to keep from screaming out. The asshole will have to wait twice as long for his coffee, which is my only consolation prize for enduring these second-degree burns.

My phone chimes in my pocket, alerting me to a text message and inciting more angry groans from the crowd.

Relax, people, I won’t fucking check it. I’ll just make a new coffee while the old one’s still burning me.

I put a little pep in my step for the second try, but the man is nearly irate by the time I slide his cup across the counter. He snatches it up and glares at me. “I don’t know why I bother coming here. The service is terrible, and the coffee isn’t even that good.”

A rude reply hovers on my tongue, but I swallow it and smile. “I apologize, sir.”

He huffs and sips his coffee as he walks away. I hope it roasts every taste bud from his tongue.

By the time the morning rush ends, my black hair falls from my ponytail, more coffee spills soak my clothes, and I only have the strength to lean against the counter and sigh.

“Hey,” my manager says. “If you need a break, go ahead and take ten.”

Thank fuck.

I rip off the apron and rush outside to my car. I’mpretty sure I have an old shirt in there, and I’m more than ready to escape the aroma of old coffee. Rifling through the disaster that resides on the floorboard, I find a large t-shirt with a few paint stains on the front. The apron will cover those, and at least it’s dry. I’ll change once I go back inside.

My phone dings again, and I remember the missed message from earlier. I pull it from my pocket and stare down at the notification. It’s an email from Vehement Photography, and the subject line makes my stomach tighten.

I’ve been chosen for a stranger session.

Sweat slicks my hands, and my stomach completes a barrel roll into my chest. This is so outside my comfort zone. I grew up in a time when stranger danger was all the rage on after-school specials. Now I’ve signed up to meet an unknown man and make out with him while someone takes pictures. For all I know, he could be a complete pervert, or even that asshole from this morning.

The options are endless. And terrifying.

I open the email and read through the text. They’ve already found my match, and the location and time of the photo shoot will be disclosed at a later date.

How nerve-wracking. Now I’m forced to stand on pins and needles while I wait for the next bit of information to trickle in. But even once I know where and when, I still won’t knowwho.

Doubt begins to creep into my mind. What if my mystery man removes his blindfold and looks disappointed? What ifI’mdisappointed? How could I ever give the photographer the intimacy they hope for if we aren’t attracted to each other?

I look down at my coffee-stained shirt and sigh. Atthis moment, I don’t feel very attractive, and I certainly don’t feel like I deserve the coveted slot for this photo shoot.

I desperately want to feel something other than worthless. There has to be more for me than this. Some excitement and out-of-the-box experiences that can make me feel something more than numb.

Sliding my phone back into my pocket, I trudge into the coffee shop with my “clean” shirt in my hand. As I pass by nameless faces, I can’t stop my brain from wondering if any of these men arehim.

And they very well could be.

Against my will, my mind conjures up scenarios involving every strange man in the building. I imagine opening my eyes and seeing their faces for the first time, then being forced to kiss them. My stomach threatens to send up my breakfast each time. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.

I head into the bathroom to change my shirt. Once I’ve situated my apron again, I pull out my phone and sit on the closed toilet seat. My fingers type out a quick reply to the email.

Sorry, I think I’ve changed my mind. You’ll need to choose someone else. I appreciate the opportunity, and I apologize for any inconvenience.

My thumb hovers over the send button. But I can’t do it.

I stand, shove my phone into my pocket, and return to the floor. My mother had another saying as well: Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Chapter Five

Del

Gravel crunches beneath my tires as I drive down the longest, windiest road I’ve ever seen. It seems endless, but it’s not. At the end waits a terrifying and hopefully exciting opportunity.

Shortly after I won the giveaway, I went through a period of self-loathing, insecurity, and overthinking. What if I’m not what my mystery girl is expecting? What if she can’t hide the disgust on her face? Now I’ve landed on the final step: excitement.

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