I make the short drive to the local coffee shop on my first break, at nine in the am the next day. The whole morning I’d done nothing but think about what transpired last night - what I allowed myself to do. What I thought about while I did it. And why, in gods name, I’m not as disgusted with myself as I should be.
It’s a lot to unpack, and the work day is sure to be long.
I wait in line to order my usual - a white chocolate iced mocha, even through the freezing temperatures outside. Stepping up to the counter, I smile at the woman behind the register, and before I can ask for my usual, she speaks first.
“Your order has already been paid for - I'll get it started for ya.”
I’m taken aback, and for a moment I think she may be talking to someone else. However, looking around, I realize I’m the only one in line at the moment. "W-What?" I'm so confused I barely react when she reaches out to take my coffee card from my outstretched hand, purposely not taking my debit card which was also clutched in my palm, and stamps it before handing it back to me. It can't be, I think. Surely not here.
The nice woman behind the counter, who takes my order every day I come in here, grins at me knowingly, and remarks, “He’s still back there if you wanna say thank you. Lucky girl.”
I already know what, who, I’m going to see.
Sure enough, I see his tall, broad frame clearly from over the bottles of syrup and espresso machines. His imposing figure is enough to make one look twice, and enough to make me melt inside. His dark hair is slicked back atop his head how he normally wears it, and he's laughing and chatting with an elderly couple at a table near him. On anyone else, that particular hairstyle might look weird, like some gangster wannabe. But on him, it looks sexy. Everything about him is sexy, I realize yet again, as my stomach drops. I can't deny my body's reaction to him. I think about what I did last night imagining him - imagining us - and I know my face burns pink; I can feel it.
There's no way out of this situation. If I deny the coffee to the barista, then they'll think I'm rude or ungrateful. Since I come here almost every day, I don't want them to treat me differently because I wouldn't accept a generous free coffee. If I offer to pay, there won't be any point because it's already paid for. I'm not one to make a scene - unless a situation really calls for it - and he probably knows that I won't make a scene over something as simple as someone buying me a coffee. I know it's not drugged or laced with anything because the barista is about to make it fresh for me right now. In my mind, I think: what's the problem here? This man has practically been terrorizing me for the past few weeks - he should at least buy me a coffee. He owes me. But at the same time, I don't want to take anything from him. I don't want to feed into his obsession; don't want to let him think that what he's doing is in any way okay... right?
I don't see any other way out of this. I smile at the barista, hoping it's convincing, and slowly begin my walk towards the back counter. Towards him.
It takes everything in me to keep my head up and not to look down at the floor. I don't want to seem meek, or timid - which is how most people see me, until they piss me off. But that takes a lot. I'm not angry now, but I am annoyed. Annoyed at him for putting me in this situation in the first place - but also annoyed at myself for enjoying his attention. I don't want to enjoy it. If this was any guy other than Ray Donnovan, I would have gone up to them by now to tell them that I wasn't interested, and to buzz off. I would have made my disinterest very clear. So why can't I do that with him? Why do I secretly enjoy what he is doing to me, in the most depraved, twisted parts of my mind?
Ray has his back turned to me for the moment, still talking to the elderly couple, but I know he'll notice me soon. At this point he can probably damn near sense me. And if he knows what my perfume smells like (which, let's be honest, he probably does!), then he'll definitely know it's me. Swallowing hard, I walk behind him as lightly as possible, trying not to draw any attention to myself. I don't know what I'll do if and when he turns around; I don't know what I'll say. I don't want to be meek and timid, but I'm thinking maybe I can get my coffee as quick as possible and escape out of here before he sees me. Maybe a bit cowardly, but I don't really feel like facing him at the moment; I don't know what I'll say or do.
His voice is so deep it travels through my whole body, practically quaking me in my steps. My knees feel weak and unsteady, and I hope I don't collapse onto the floor behind him; being this close to him is making me feel anxious and... something else. Even though he is not currently talking to me, I can't help but hang onto every word I can make out from him over the normal sounds of coffee being made, people talking across tables, and the local pop radio station blaring from the speakers somewhere above my head. I hope the barista makes my drink fast today as I stop a few feet away from Ray; not too close so as hopefully not to have him notice me (or god forbid, smell me).
He is so much larger than I am; a fact I hadn’t really realized until just now, when I’m practically right beside him. He has to be at least six-two, though I would actually bet that he may be even taller than that. He smells good too; a hint of cologne, mixed with the sweet and spicy aroma of pure masculine musk. Purely the scent of a man. It damn near has my mouth watering.
I try not to look at him, fearing that the weight of my gaze will have him feeling someone watching him; feeling my presence close by, knowing that I'm near. It all sounds so dramatic in my head. But if I didn't see him everywhere I went, or always seem to have him show up when I least expect it, I would probably think the same. Instead, I keep my eyes focused on what the barista is doing, knowing that as soon as she's done with my drink I can hopefully bolt out of here unnoticed.
But right at that moment, I feel immense heat at my left side, and my heart rate spikes as the smell of him increases tenfold. Fuck.
"Kelli."
At that exact moment, as soon as his deep voice breathes out my name in what sounds like reverence, the barista brings my coffee to the counter. "White chocolate mocha," she announces, catching my eye and winking not-so-subtly. My face is still hot, and now burns even more as I walk up to the counter on shaky legs to grab my drink. I realize that I'm not sure I even need the caffeine anymore; I feel like a live wire.
Feeling his eyes on me the whole time, I thank her and bid her a good day, my cheerful voice not relaying the butterflies of both anxiety and anticipation fluttering madly in my gut. His eyes burning into my back, I put the lid on my drink, carefully so my trembling hands don't knock the cup over, and reach for a straw. I feel footsteps on the floor behind me, heavy ones, and I know there's no quick escape from him now. However, I still attempt one.
Not even looking back at him, I begin walking towards the door, stirring my drink to blend all the milk and syrups together with the coffee. I hear him behind me saying goodbye to the older couple he'd been talking to before he follows me - and I don't even have to look back at him to know that he's following. I can feel his heavy footsteps pounding on the wood floor underneath my feet, harder the closer he gets. It gives me shivers, knowing that he's coming after me; knowing about the inevitable interaction that will follow.
I pull the door open and cold air from outside rushes into the warm coffee shop. I'm not fast enough to yank the door closed behind me before one of his massive hands catches it and prevents me from shutting it. The thought of those hands and the things they could be capable of makes me shiver, and not from the freezing temperatures outside. I stamp down the thoughts of what I'd done last night the moment it comes to the surface of my brain. Now is a really bad time to be rehashing that.
"Kelli," He says my name again as I walk down the stairs, gripping onto the railing for dear life so my legs don't give out on me. I don't stop; just keep walking to my car, not sure of what else to do that doesn't involve dumping my mocha over his head. But I would never do that - the waste of coffee would be a catastrophe.
Speaking of coffee, I take a sip of the cold drink despite the equally cold air. Delicious.
Ray suddenly appears beside me, nearly making me jump out of my skin. "Did I get it right?"
It's after a moment that I realize he's referring to the coffee. I blame my slow thoughts on exhaustion and anxiety, both of which he's partly to blame for.
I look up at him for the first time, and the eye contact sends a jolt of electricity through me despite the situation. He's looking down at me so earnestly, sincerely wanting to know if he got my order right. If he wasn't stalking me, I would feel like the luckiest girl in the world for landing such a man. I mean, part of me still- No, I do not feel lucky. Absolutely not.
I speak to him for the first time ever, I realize, and I simply say, "You know you did."
A slow, almost sheepish smile crosses his lips, as if he's embarrassed for knowing my coffee order without ever asking me what it was. "I guess I do, huh?"
I roll my eyes, because I don't know what else to do, and reach into my pocket for my key fob to unlock my car. Even though the air is chilly, my cheeks are hot. I really need my body to stop reacting to him in such a way - it's not helping my case. "I have to get back to work. Thanks for the surprise." I don't really know why I thank him, other than because technically, what he did was an act of kindness. I just wonder what his ulterior motives are.
"Wait," He steps in front of me now and I almost walk into him. I stop dead in my tracks, and there's barely any space between us. My eyes are level with his vest clad chest, and it's wider than the width of my shoulders. My heart feels like it's about to burst out of my chest as I slowly raise my eyes to look up at him, and I have to crane my head back far because he's so tall. He's looking at me like he wants to say something, lips parted, but he doesn't speak. It's almost like he's afraid to say what he's thinking because he knows it will scare me away. However, I find myself disappointed that he doesn't talk; doesn't he at least owe me that?
Finding my courage, I ask him, "What do you want from me?"
For a moment he looks at me, just looks at me, and it's almost to the point where it starts to make me uncomfortable. I'm in my work clothes, covered in dust and dirt from working in the warehouse, but it's like none of that matters to him. He looks at me like I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen; like I'm his most cherished person. Like I'm his lover. It's like in this moment I have a glimpse into his soul, and he's laying bare all of the things he's unable to voice; all of the words he's afraid to say out loud. His vulnerability makes me feel equally exposed, and I don't really know what to think about it.
He looks like there's a lot that he wants to say, but he seems to realize the time and place that we're in at the moment: on the sidewalk of a busy street, during the morning rush at all the local coffee shops and cafes, while I'm on a mere fifteen minute break from my soul sucking job. So instead of saying all that he wants to say, he simply answers: "A chance."
I blink up at him, because that's all I can do. If all he wants is a chance, why then doesn't he just ask me out on a date like a normal person? But strangely, his admission has me feeling something like compassion towards him. He could have said anything he wanted, but he chose to say that. Why? My inexperience in the dating and flirting field is probably painfully showing at the moment, because I don't have a response for him. It will probably take the rest of the day for me to even properly digest this first real interaction, and to maybe come up with an afterthought of a response. Even then, I don't know if I'll be able to think of one.
Plus, who the fuck wants to flirt with their stalker? Not me. Certainly not me.
He sighs, a crease between his eyebrows where there wasn't one before. "You should get back, I don't want you to be late."
With that he walks around to the drivers side of my car and opens my door for me, and I guess the conversation is over. As I slide into my car seat, I look up at him once again, wondering if he's going to say anything else, but he remains silent. He waits until I'm buckled in before he leans down into the still open car door. Looking me in the eye, he says seriously, "I hope you have a good day." and I can tell he really means it. With one last look at me, he shuts my car door for me, and then he disappears from my window, walking around to the back of my car so I'm free to drive away.
As I pull out of the parking spot and into the street, I look in my rearview mirror to see that he's still standing in the same spot he was in behind my car, watching me go.
Driving back to my workplace, I know I'll be thinking about this interaction for the rest of the day, whether I want to or not. And the worst part is: I do.
♡˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ♡
This is an original work of mine, as are the characters.
I do not own the song 'Adore' by Cashmere Cat and Ariana Grande. The above picture is from pinterest, and there's a link attached to the original post.
