Page 11 of Watching Ames

At that, I was rewarded with a quirk of his lips, a hint of a grin on a face that didn’t seem like it smiled often, if ever. “Not many people would have returned money that nobody was looking for.”

“I’m a regular here. Couldn’t get caught stealing or I’d have to start all over somewhere else.”

“A regular, huh? You must have the inside scoop on what’s best, then. What would you recommend?”

I laughed, walking a few steps backward to catch up with the line that I could see had moved up out of the corner of my eye. “Not sure you’d appreciate my recommendation. I’m sure you like your coffee strong and bitter.”

The same beginnings of a smile caused the edges of his lips to tremble, and I felt a deep sense of satisfaction at the sight. He leaned a little closer, face close enough that I could see the gold in the brown of his eyes and smell the woodsy scent of his aftershave, whispering, “Actually, I usually crave sweet things.” He had given me a wink, one that sent warmth spreading through my chest and a flush to my cheeks.

I opened my mouth to respond, unsure what to say, just as the barista called out “next,” saving me from having to respond. I spun around on a heel, almost falling over in my haste, fighting the flutter of excited nerves that were swarming in my stomach.

I caught myself against the counter just in time, grabbing the already prepared coffee from the barista and tapping my credit card on the machine to pay. I had just enough mind left to jerk a thumb over my shoulder and mutter, “He’ll have my usual, too” before footing it out the door.

* * *

Alex couldn’t bemy admirer; we had interacted months ago. It wouldn’t make sense for him to meet me once and then follow up with a series of gifts almost half a year later. The medium-sized city wasn’t big enough to lose yourself in; running into each other at a sold-out concert and then at a popular café wasn’t out of the realm of possibility but rather a feasible coincidence. A sliver of disappointment snaked through my belly at the thought, unbidden and unwanted, and I quickly shoved it away.

I smacked myself lightly on the forehead, embarrassed that I hadn’t remembered his face the night of the concert. “Why didn’t you say anything? You said it was nice to meet me!”

Thinking back to it now, the memory stood out in stark contrast, one that had distracted me the rest of the day. But I remembered at the end of the day getting a call from Bex’s lawyer - the original, incompetent one - talking about a plea deal that would land Bex over ten years in jail. We’d argued about taking the deal off and on for weeks, until a well-respected lawyer offered to take Bex’s case pro bono, and all the chaos overwhelmed any positive interaction during those weeks, including the short flirtation of a handsome stranger.

“Well, as you can imagine, it doesn’t do great things for a man’s ego to not be remembered by a beautiful woman.” He raised a brow at this, the smooth skin of his forehead wrinkling with the motion, and I couldn’t help but wonder again at how I forgot his face, regardless of Bex’s arrest and subsequent trial. “And besides, we hadn’t formally met before the concert.”

I reached out a hand with a laugh, knowing that I was taken and shouldn’t be feeling an obscene amount of electricity zip through my fingers as he slipped his hand into mine. But that didn’t stop me from feeling it as I told him, “Ames Fitzgerald, nice to meet you. Again. For the third time.”

“Alex Ortiz, likewise.” He pumped my hand a few times in a practiced motion, smoothing his tie as he leaned back in his seat, still facing me.

“You work in business?” I guessed, gesturing at his suit and the computer laid out in front of him. Even as I guessed it, I knew I wasn’t quite right, something about the way he looked in his suit providing a slightly savage edge to the authoritative energy he gave off. I suddenly recalled a string of romance books I had read months ago, about a group of brothers in the mob.

Alex didn’t match their physical descriptions - they were all pale and blue-eyed - but something about the danger in his eyes and the way he dressed reminded me of how they were described. He exuded power; not the old-money way Peter and his colleagues gave off, butrealpower, dangerous power. Not the power reserved for passing laws to elevate their own status at the expense of others. Rather, Alex felt like he had the power to ruin my life or give me everything I ever wanted. I almost expected him to say he worked in “import/export” and smothered a laugh at the thought.

“Cybersecurity and surveillance, actually.” I must have gaped at him because he laughed, tossing his head back so I could see the tanned skin of his neck before he threw my past words back in my face, “You don’t have to look so surprised.”

I held my hands up in mock-surrender. “You just don’t look like the computer-science-y type.” I didn’t mention that I secretly pictured him as a criminal. I gestured toward his frame, which was likely over six feet and filled out his suit more than someone I imagined typing away on their computer all day would. “Plus,” I added, “I’ve met cyber guys before, and they usually don’t look like you.”

I compared Alex’s sleek look - from his hair to his suit to his shoes - to Bex’s ex-boyfriend, the one serving 20-30 years for cybercrime and domestic terrorism. He had worn a lot of stained tees and constantly had a manic look in his eyes when he talked about the government. I then compared him to the experts that took the stand in Bex’s court case. Most of them had worn unfitted dress shirts with unmatched ties, and had made snide remarks about Bex’s inability to have any involvement due to her lack of formal coding education, though it felt more like an attack on her gender. I hadn’t had great experiences with men in the field, but none of my experiences with them matched the sexy, intense confidence radiating off Alex in waves, even just as he sat in a packed coffee shop.

He shrugged, willing to take the inadvertent compliment, and turned the question on me, “And what do you do?”

“I run a business too?” My words came out as a question, and I cringed at how unsure I sounded. I cleared my throat and tried again, firming my voice this time as I told him, “I own my own small business. I create custom ceramics for individual clients and larger businesses.”

“Impressive,” he responded, his eyes warm despite my tripping over my words. “So, I’m curious. What does that involve? I don’t think I’ve touched clay since elementary school art class.”

“Well, I work on a potter’s wheel. Essentially, I throw - you know, shape and create - the piece on the wheel, let it dry, and bake it in the kiln. After that, I can glaze it, which is like painting it, and then I’d have to bake it a last time.” I dug into my bag and pulled out a business card for the studio, holding it out for Alex to take. “I actually teach some beginners classes at this studio. It walks you through all the basics and then at the end you get to take some pieces home.”

I paused for a moment, glancing at his custom-fit suit and the messy waves of his dark hair, which looked perfectly tousled without so much as a cowlick. I thought of Peter, who wouldn’t even let me touch him with clay-stained hands when he wore his suits and realized that this perfectly-tailored man in front of me had no interest in taking an introductory pottery class.

“I’d love that,” he took the card from my hand before I could retract it, fingers brushing mine and sending another tingle straight through me.Get yourself together, Ames, I chastised myself, wiping my hand on my jeans as I tried to get my pulse back under control. “Anyway, I don’t want to keep you from your work.” He gestured to the computer I had forgotten in front of me, and I momentarily felt disappointed that he planned to leave now that he had said hello. Instead, he just settled further into his chair, opening his laptop next to mine, and a small part of me settled when I realized he planned to stay. But a larger part of me worried that I felt anything at all.

* * *

“Hey, how are your friends?”I asked as I heard the front door open, guessing it was Bex since neither Peter nor his assistant had shown their faces in my apartment since her arrival.

“They’re good; it was nice to catch up with them. Just…strange,” she trailed off, twisting her fingers through the ends of her dirty-blonde hair in a gesture she’d done since we were children when she felt anxious or annoyed.

“Strange how?” I moved to get up from the table to stand closer to her, but she waved me off, coming to sit with me instead.

“They’re starting master’s programs and getting promoted, and I was on trial for cyberterrorism earlier this year. It was already weird with them when they all went to college and I didn’t. Now, it’s like they don’t know how to act around me at all. One literally asked if I was allowed to have a cell phone. As if she didn’t realize I was found not guilty.” She rolled her eyes as her fingers completed another quick jerk through her hair and I got up from my chair, braiding it away from her face in an attempt to save her from ripping her hair out.

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