Oh God.
It’s him.
Ben Campbell, the hottest guy I’ve seen in forever.
He’s brilliant, his blond-streaked hair tousled in a way that I could imagine burying my fingers in, looking just as hot as last week—possibly more so. His coat’s unbuttoned, hands stuffed in the pockets. He’s smiling, cheeks flushed a delicious pink from the cold outside. Who knows how long he’s stood there watching me. Unfortunately, it’s long enough for him to watch me gawp.
Act cool. Like he’s any other person.
“You’re making a habit of this?” I ask him archly. Time to save face, despite my thudding brain and heart, the adrenaline already going. “Hope you’ve had better luck with your wallet this week.”
“Aye, I have.” He pauses to pat his wallet in his rear pocket, conveniently over his arse. The tease. Ben’s eyes are very blue and his grin is irrepressible. There’s something entirely appealing about it, and even more appealing about him.
All I know is that I can’t look away while wiping the counter clean of invisible dust again.
“It’s my phone this time,” he says. “Gone.”
“Hmm. Shame. Sounds expensive.”
Casual, Charlie. Be casual. Beat him at his own game.
“I suppose that’s what insurance is for. I’m not sure if it’s more or less of a hassle than canceling my bank cards, though.” He looks forlorn. Hell, he’s positively wistful as he sucks on his lip ring.
“Do monsters get insurance coverage these days? It’s so hard to keep up with the trends.”
He flashes a grin. “In some circles, aye. We do.”
“At least you have phones. Sure beats roaring to each other from the tops of skyscrapers. Very modern. I’m keeping to my story that you’re an urban monster and not an off-grid one.”
“The best crimes and Americanos are in the city, it’s true.”
“So you’ve admitted to doing crimes, then.”
“Only under pressure.”
“Maybe you just wanted to come clean. For your conscience, you know. After last Saturday.”
“Well, there is that. I couldn’t stop thinking about my monstrous crimes. Kept me up at night. You know how it is. Or the mean coffee that your coworker made. Or, you know, other things.”
“Right, coffee.” I stand there like a fool, cloth in hand. Well, it should have been obvious already that he was flirting, but this is confirmation of his queer card. “So, er, what can I do for you this time?”
A fail on the smooth front. Jesus, Charlie. He’s here for a coffee, like everyone else. Don’t get excited. This is harmless chatter, nothing more.
“I came to see you.” Ben looks entirely too pleased with himself. “I’ve been by the café a couple of times this week and you weren’t working. I asked last time when you’d be in and they said Saturday morning. So here I am.”
I nearly drop the cloth. My fingers tighten to literally get a grip. “Youcame to seeme? I mean, wasn’t going to the gig last week suitable punishment enough?”
“I need to know something.” His expression shifts from playful to serious. “Something I’ve not stopped thinking about since the last time I was here.”
“Yeah?” I lift my head, intrigued and yet already horrified about what I might say next. I can’t trust my tongue. Or words. They’re in cahoots. What on earth does he need to know that I could tell him?
“What kind of services do you offer?”
I splutter, my cool facade in tatters. “Services?” I put my cloth down with a slap on the counter. “What do you mean, services?”
“Well, last week you told me you were the worst sort of service person in this part of London.” He tilts his head, hair falling in his eyes, which gives off an air of mischief even with his deadpan expression. “And I want to know what services you aren’t offering, so I can avoid asking for those. Spare us some awkwardness and all that.”
My brain throbs a dull drumbeat. All I want to do is stand here and admire him. That’s free, too. No harm in looking. Today he’s got on a fuzzy green jumper under his open coat. I’d love to slide my hands under that pullover, feel the skim of soft wool and skin. Definitely, absolutely fuckable.
