I tried to think back to everything we’dsaid, but there was no way to remember it all. “I’m sitting here a littlemortified, trying to figure out what other embarrassing things I might’vesaid.”
“You mean besides your stalkingtendencies?”
My laugh came out slightly strangled, and Ilooked down at the table, trying to find something else to focus on. “Yes.”
“I figured out you worked at the…clothingcompany down the street. You also had interesting lines about where goodstalking crossed into bad stalking. Tattoos interest you, but you’re not readyto make a commitment. Your mother doesn’t know much about your personal life.And I think that’s it for the most part.” I could hear the laughter in hisvoice, although he was doing his best to keep it from escaping.
I just wanted to let my head fall to thetable so I could hide. Forcing myself not to look like more of an idiot, Iignored the blush that was still heating up my face and tried to sound like afunctional adult. “So you know a lot about me, but I barely even know yourname.”
He gave me a skeptical look. “You’re not avery good stalker if you don’t know anything else about me yet. Fess up, whatdo you know?”
Smiling, a little less embarrassed somehow,I nodded. “Okay, so maybe I know a little.”
“Like what?”
I thought back to the things that had firstcaught my attention. “You like to read. You’re good with kids once they’re outof that screamy, drooly stage. You work non-traditional hours and take yourlunch break about three o’clock in the afternoon at least three days a week. Youseem to like reading books in a series and sometimes you doodle on napkinswithout realizing what you’re doing.”
“You’re a better stalker than I thought.I’m not sure if I should be worried about you. That face is sweet and innocent,but you might be as crazy as your friend.”
“Just observant. Not nuts.”
He leaned forward against the table, hiselbows coming to rest on the top. “Observant how?”
I shrugged, not sure if the story wouldmake me sound more normal or kind of pathetic. “I didn’t start off watching youinsanely. The first time I noticed you was because there was a lady in herewith like a dozen kids who were all going in different directions and sheneeded caffeine badly. You kept some of the older ones occupied for just aminute by drawing things on the napkins and made faces at the other ones tokeep them entertained.”
He nodded absently, smiling. “Oh, Iremember that. It was ages ago.”
I reached out and started playing with alittle sign on the table that was advertising new drinks. “It caught myattention. It was at odds with how I thought someone with that many tattoosand…well, it just wasn’t what I imagined.”
Was there a right way to say that someonewho looked like he might run a biker gang shouldn’t look that cute playing withkids?
Probably not.
“Then I noticed you reading the next time Isaw you and that just had me looking for you more whenever I would come. Onething led to another…” I shrugged, not sure what to say next that wouldn’tsound weird.
He shook his head like he was disappointedor shocked, but the laughter in his eyes made it clear he didn’t mind. “Onething led to another and then you found you were a stalker.”
“It really is your fault.”
“For being so cute with kids or for beingliterate?”
“Both.” Then deciding to just go with it, Iglanced down at his arms where tattoos were peeking out from under the sleevesof his T-shirt. “And don’t forget the tattoos.”
Or the muscles, but I kept that to myselffor the time being. No reason to keep the conversation going in that directionuntil I knew where I stood with him. A coffee date didn’t mean gay…did it?
It could’ve meant he was curious.
It could’ve meant he was lonely and wantedattention.
It could’ve meant that at any moment he wasgoing to fix me up with his gay BFF.
That one hadn’t happened to me, but it hadhappened to one of the other models a couple of weeks ago. So I was preparedfor anything.
Wilder’s smile widened, and for just amoment, I thought I saw desire in his eyes before the barista called out hisname, breaking the spell. The heat faded as Wilder stood up, but the way hewatched me still had my insides whirling.
As he walked over to the counter, I watchedhis long stride and wide shoulders and wondered what was going on. Fantasy mendidn’t just show up asking you for coffee. It didn’t matter how polite theywere to strangers or how cute they looked readingHarry Potter. It justdidn’t happen.
But it was happening. At least on somelevel.
