“I don’t want to play with his. I like to play with my own, thank you very much.”

Cameron’s lips push together as he tries not to laugh.

“You know what I mean. Please don’t make me.”

“You are so stubborn, you know that, right?”

I shrug. “I prefer strong willed.”

“Call it what you want. But I already said you’d be there to help set shit up.”

“Fine,” I huff. If I never see Mindy fucking Abraham again it would be too soon. “When do I have to be there?”

“Half an hour.”

I nod and get back to my food. “I’m only doing this because I love you. And you told me my ass looks good today.”

He stands with a smile. “Thank you, Felicity. Seriously, this saves me so much trouble.”

I quickly finish my food, refill my Little Mermaid travel coffee mug, and stop at my desk to get my purse. I yank the band out of my hair and let the wind loosen the tight ringlets the bun created. I’m halfway to the gallery when I realize I left my coffee at my desk. I debate on turning around, but don’t have time. I might, just might, be able to run across the street to the Starbucks by the gallery and hit up the drive through. I yawn. Yep. There isn’t enough coffee in the world to get me through the rest of the afternoon with Mindy.

A text comes through from my brother, saying that Danielle is working on “tightening the guest list” and needs to know if I’m bringing a date. I pick up my phone, dangerously reading the text while driving. I won’t actually text while driving, no sir, not worth the risk. Besides, what am I going to say? Chances are I won’t have a date, and that makes me feel all sorts of low.

Fuck it.

I can have fun on my own. And Erin makes a pretty great date. I’ll think of a response later. Right now, I need coffee. Of course, the drive through line is a mile long. I park, hoping I can quickly run in and get my order. Luckily, the inside line is nothing compared to the dozen cars lined up around the store. I put on lip gloss and rake my fingers through my hair then hurry into the cafe.

I order an iced mocha and a brownie with chocolate frosting that looks way too good to pass up. I pay, then stand to the side and wait for my drink, feeling the panic start to build as each minute passes. I check the time on my phone. Yep. I’m officially late.

I try to tell myself it doesn’t matter, and that I probably won’t need the whole appointment time anyway. Still, it bugs me to be unprofessional. If Cameron gets a complaint, he will get it from his boss and will be forced to handle it. Plus, after hearing how particular this Ben guy is, I can’t imagine he’ll be too pleasant when I walk in ten to fifteen minutes late. I need him there for part of the time to let me in his office and to put in passwords. And I’m sure he’ll need step-by-step instructions on how to do pretty much everything.

Finally, my drink comes and it’s a balancing act to hold my brownie, phone, wallet, and vente mocha. Somedays I really question my own judgment. This would have been exponentially easier if I had brought my purse in. I gather everything up, take a step, then stop, knowing I have to rearrange something or everything is going onto the floor.

The man who’d been behind me waiting on his drink grabs his coffee from the counter and abruptly turns around, probably thinking I was long gone. Yet there I am, just a foot from where I’d been.

He collides with me, smashing my brownie against my phone and sloshing my cold coffee down the front of my shirt. My mind whirls, going from what the fuck, to holy shit this is cold, to noticing that he’s impossibly gorgeous. He’s well over six feet tall, with a shock of thick, black hair that matches his dark eyes. Stubble covers a strong jaw and tattoos peek out from the sleeves of a black T-shirt that’s filled out by strong muscles. His jeans are washed out and tight in all the right places, and I find my eyes trailing down his body on their own accord. That’s one hell of a bulge he’s got going on.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” he blurts and takes a step back. Some of my coffee splashed on him, but the majority is running down my front and dripping onto the floor. “I didn’t see you there. Well, I did, but then you moved,” he goes on.

“It’s okay,” I say, feeling breathless as I watch his full lips move as he speaks. I blink. No, this isn’t okay, actually. I’m covered in coffee.

“Let me help,” he says and sets his own drink down to grab napkins. I’m standing frozen, not sure what to do. My items are barely in my grasp and any movement might send them falling. Not the brownie! 

“Here,” he says and takes the smashed coffee from my hand. I shake myself and take a step forward, setting my phone, wallet, and brownie onto the counter, and take the napkins from his outstretched hand. I wipe off the mess from my hands first, then move to my shirt.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, eyes on my chest as he takes in the damage done. “I’m in a rush and I … I … fuck. Can I at least buy you another coffee?”

Rush. Right. I’m in a rush too, and my brain automatically goes to the universe cursing me for being selfish enough to show up late to an appointment just so I could get coffee.

“No,” I say. “There’s still some left.”

He wipes off my phone. “I feel awful, really.”

I toss the napkins and get another handful, sticking them inside my shirt and retrieving a chunk of ice from between my breasts.

“Hey, at least it wasn’t hot coffee,” I say and force a smile.

He smiles back and I just might have quivered. “Right. I don’t want a lawsuit on my hands.”

A barista comes over with a damp towel. I thank her and wipe at my shirt, knowing it’s a futile attempt at most. This sucker needs to soak in some cold water and detergent. Fuck. I have to work like this now. I close my eyes, silently seething as I imagine Mindy’s smirk as she asks what happened.

“You’re pissed,” Hot Guy says.

“Well, can you blame me?” I blurt and run the towel over my sticky hands before taking my phone from him. I wipe it off the best I can, knowing I have to take it out of the case ASAP.

“Is that the new iPhone?” he asks, eyebrows going together. “It’s not out yet.”

“I have a beta,” I say. One of the benefits of being a techie nerd, thank you very much.

He shakes his head. “That’s besides the point. I think I ruined your shirt.”

“It’s too tight at the top anyway,” I say then realize I basically said my boobs are too big. Or that I gained weight and it doesn’t fit. Should I be embarrassed?

“It looks good on you,” he says, eyes going past the coffee stain to my cleavage. “Even covered in coffee.”

He’s hitting on me. I haven’t been hit on in … a long time. Suddenly, I need more ice running down my skin.

“Thanks,” I say and blink up at him. His skin is a gorgeous light tan with hints of olive. He has an air to him that demands respect, a confidence that can be seen.

He dries off my wallet and wipes the mess from the outside of the plastic cup, eyeing my name hand written on the side.

“Felicity,” he says and my name rolls off his tongue, his deep voice holding me captive from just speaking one word. “Are you sure I can’t buy you another drink to make for this?”

“I’d like that,” I say honestly. “But I’m running late to meet a client, and I hear the guy’s a real asshole.” I shake my head and sigh. “I’m already dreading going in.”

“Ouch, now I feel even worse. Asshole client and I ruined your shirt.”

“The shirt is the least of my worries,” I say with a smile.

“Then your client must really be as ass.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Yeah, he seems that way. And his secretary isn’t much better.” I wrinkle my nose. “I’m only doing this as a favor to my boss since he’s my friend.” I inhale and slowly let it out. I hook my wallet around my wrist grab my phone and brownie.