But they’re so busy that the only option when the craving hits me on a weekend is walking two blocks to go fetch my order, else I’d have to wait an hour for my food.
I’m not a patient woman.
Which is why I’m glaring at the back of a guy’s head, the one who’s been standing at the front of the queue for ten minutes because he can’t make up his mind about what he wants to order. I’m about to go over there and demand he falls back in line until he’s ready when an invisible touch strokes the skin between my shoulder blades.
Through a brief lull in the ambient chatter-clatter of the diner, I hear the jangle of the door’s bell. I turn, glance at the man who’s stepped inside, and face forward again.
Then I do a double-take.
It’s Professor Fyre.
Suddenly, my lust for a juicy cheeseburger is snuffed out. Something else replaces it…something much, much more carnal. Primal, even.
The queue waiting to order take out is about ten strong, and I’m right in the middle. Which means four people are separating me and Fyre.
It’s way too little.
It’s obviously too much.
The rain cleared up earlier today, but it left behind some muggy air that felt chilly when I stepped out of my apartment. Rather than ride my bike the two blocks to get here, and then end up with a scrambled cheeseburger—I learn from my mistakes—I walked. So clever me decides to go back up and grab a jacket.
I’m starting to sweat.
It has nothing to do with the temperature inside the diner.
It’s all him.
I can feel Fyre behind me.
Has he seen me? If he has, will he come up to me and say something? I’m still flabbergasted about our chance encounter earlier this week. What are the odds, right? Those five minutes I spent in the cab of his truck with him was the fuel for several dirty dreams and three exquisite masturbation sessions—two in the shower, one in my bed.
I just couldn’t get over how fucking sexy he looked with his wet hair and his profoundly concerned expression. I get the feeling he doesn’t like where I stay either because his face was a thundercloud when we pulled up outside my apartment block. He offered—more than once—to help me get my bike upstairs, but I was so terrified I’d do something embarrassing, say tripping on the stairs, that I shooed him away like a stray dog.
Oh God, why isn’t this line moving?
It’s taking everything I have not to turn around and make him notice me. But what the hell will happen if I do that? Would I go stand next to him awkwardly and chat while the line moves?
He didn’t come here to have a weird conversation with one of his therapy students. He came here for…
Wait. Why is he here? Is he…is he following me?
The hair on my arms stands up. A rush of heat floods through me, warming my already pink cheeks. I unzip my jacket and flap the two halves to try and cool down a little, but as circumspectly as I can so I don’t draw Fyre’s attention.
Unless he’s already seen me. I don’t think he noticed me before I turned straight ahead…but what if he did? What if he spotted me, and I immediately faced away like I didn’t want him to see me?
Oh my God…what if he thinks I’m avoiding him?
Now my cheeks are on fire. And the worse part is, even if I wanted to escape this infernal torture, I’d have to walk right past him to get to the door.
I’m trapped.
A trickle of sweat tickles down my back.
Think, Charlotte, think!
The line moves. My phone vibrates with a new message or something. Probably just a notification. I’m not on social media, but I have a few free apps for reading books and stuff. And then there’s the website where I offer freelance editing services. Maybe someone wants to book my services!
I take out my phone, and as I do, a master plan of epic proportions hits me.
Fake. A. Call.
I could walk out here, eyes down, phone to my ear on the side where Fyre is, and walk right by him without ‘noticing’ him. If he sees me, he wouldn’t dare interrupt a call to say hi.
It’s perfect.
But my insides are quivering.
Because what if, instead of calling out my name, he touches me as I walk past? A delicious little shiver chases its way through me at the thought.
I could be all blase about it. Give him a wave, then go outside.
And then run!
I’m doing it. I’m doing it!
The line moves again. My stomach grumbles.
Sorry, buddy. Gonna have to take one for the team. Maybe I’ll come back later when I’m sure he’s gone.
Now…Let’s do this properly. Trying to move as little as possible, I go through my phone’s settings until I get to the ring tone. I switch it to the default one—I had some weird forest sound selected—and tap on the ringer volume.
I jerk when the ring tone trills out, impossibly loud. Instantly, I hear a bunch of grumbles around me.
Screw all of you—this is an emergency.
I let it ring once more before making my screen go black, then I answer the phone with a quiet, “Hello?”
“Take it outside!” someone calls out in the line behind me.
And then I hear Fyre. “She’ll lose her place in the line.”
“Not my problem, guy. Should have had it on silent.”
Fyre starts to say something in return, but my heart’s pounding so hard it’s drowning out the diner. I turn and head for the door, chin down, phone pressed to my ear.
Somehow, I still see him in my periphery. But he isn’t focused on me, he’s talking to the man in front of him. I think it’s the guy who told me to take the call outside.
My heart stutters.
Fyre’s dark eyes are blazing with anger, and his jaw is rock hard. The man turns around in the queue to face my
