Man Crush Monday Page 2

  I smile down at it, reaching down a hand to stroke its furry little head and scratch it behind the ear. “Well, aren’t you a beautiful little fur baby!”

  Okay, so maybe dogs are my weakness too. But in my defence, have you seen dogs?

  I force myself to stand and leave the pup alone because I need to get to work. As soon as I’m back on my feet, something solid—or rather, someone solid walks smack into me at full force. I don’t have time to react as my precious coffee cup slams against my chest, the lid popping off. I feel the shock of cold as the liquid bursts upwards; wet seeps into my white shirt and sloshes up my neck. Ice cubes skitter to the floor with a chink and a splash, and I blink in shock.

  “Whoa! Oh shit!” a guy exclaims.

  As the force of the collision propels me backwards, hands grip my upper arms, stopping me from crashing into the little metal table behind me. The cute little dog at my feet yelps and runs away a couple of steps, so he doesn’t get trampled.

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” the guy asks, his hands still firmly gripping my arms.

  I blink again, my mouth popping open in shock as I register the fact that over half a cup of liquid just exploded over me. I look down at the floor, seeing his phone lying in a puddle of coffee and that the dog is now back, lapping at the liquid with gusto.

  I blow out a big breath, my shock now receding. “I’m okay,” I mutter, stepping back and flicking droplets from my fingers.

  “I was on my phone. I wasn’t watching. This was totally my fault. I’m so sorry.” His voice is apologetic.

  I shrug, a smile now creeping up onto my lips as a chuckle bubbles in my throat.

  Stuff like this happens to me all the time. Heather calls me her “liability mate”—the one who trips over the plugged-in phone charger or drops her ice cream and has to buy another, the one who gets lost on a night out or accidentally stalk-likes her ex’s new girlfriend’s photo on Facebook. Basically, I’m a liability.

  “It’s okay. At least it wasn’t a hot one, so no third-degree burns,” I joke, reaching up to brush the worst of the liquid from my shirt as I look up at him.

  As my eyes land on his face, my heart squeezes and stops. Okay, that’s an exaggeration; it doesn’t stop, but I definitely get palpitations. It’s him. My Man Crush Monday—but on a Tuesday, outside a coffee shop. I’ve never seen him outside of my work, and I feel myself begin to sweat as nerves and excitement swirl together in my stomach like a tornado.

  He groans and reaches up to his breast pocket, pulling out the black pocket square and holding it out to me as he shakes his head in disbelief. “What a dick. I’m really sorry.”

  I swallow around my nerves. “It’s fine, honestly. Thanks.”

  I slip off my handbag and set it and my half a coffee on the table next to us before taking the offered handkerchief; it’s soft silk, and it feels expensive. I gulp and feel guilty, using it to try and blot the worst of the liquid from my shirt and dry off my neck. My eyes wander over him. Dark grey tailored suit today, crisp white shirt, and a black tie held in place with a silver pin. He looks incredible; it fits him flawlessly, showing off his athletic and toned body, his trousers stretching over his thighs like a wet dream waiting to happen.

  “I’ll pay for the dry cleaning.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “Dry cleaning? You’re obviously under the impression that I work for somewhere reputable. This is tumble dry only,” I joke.

  When he laughs quietly, I award myself an internal high five.

  “Do you have something to change into? You’re on your way to work, I’m assuming?” he asks, cocking his head to the side as his eyes flit down to my jacket with the train company logo stitched into it.

  I nod. “Actually, I do. I have a spare shirt in my locker for emergencies such as this. You might not believe me, but this happens to me a lot. Maybe not walking into someone at a coffee shop, but just general spillages. I’m that kind of person.”

  “I actually do believe you.” One side of his mouth quirks up into a boyish smile, and it’s so cute that my insides clench, and I grin back like a goon. He brushes off the couple of small droplets of coffee from his suit sleeves before bending to retrieve his phone from the puddle, shooing the dog away from the spill. “No more of that; you’ll get the caffeine shakes.”

  I chuckle, watching as he gently tries to push the dog away again. “No one can resist an iced latte; one small sip, and you’re hooked.”

  He grins up at me, that full-on devastating smile, and damn if I don’t internally swoon.

  “Is your phone okay?” I wince, watching as he gives up on trying to stop the dog and brushes the worst of the liquid off his sleek, expensive-looking smartphone before pressing a button to light up the screen.

  “Yeah, all good,” he replies, slipping it into his trouser pocket without really looking at it. His beautiful brown eyes travel down my body, assessing the damage as he stands and steps closer. “You have …” He reaches towards me but then seems to catch himself, and his hand stalls midair before he clears his throat and points at my chest.

  I look down, too, to see a partially melted ice cube lodged between my shirt buttons and laugh before flicking it out. “Thanks.”

  I hand him back his now-ruined pocket square and pick up my bag and coffee cup.

  He shuffles on his feet before nodding back into the shop. “If you won’t let me pay to get your uniform cleaned, at least let me replace your drink.” His eyes shine in apology as he reaches up and scratches the back of his neck almost shyly.

  I press my lips together to try and hide my excitement that I get to talk to him for a few more minutes and nod. “Okay, that would be nice. Thanks.”

  He turns, grips the handle of the door, and pulls it open, gesturing for me to go through first. I toss my half-empty cup into the bin and step in.

  We join the back of the queue and stand awkwardly, side by side. It’s weird, standing next to him, doing something normal like this. I’m struck by how tall he is as he stands at my side; I only just come up past his shoulder. My guess at six foot was probably a little bit off; he’s more like six two. We’re the total opposites. He’s all tall and lean and clean edges, professional-looking. I’m petite with thick thighs and a big bum, all soft curves. My coffee-stained shirt, polyester uniform, and ugly shoes are in direct comparison to his tailored expensiveness. He’s a solid ten, and I’m maybe an average, albeit quirky, six. If it wasn’t for his dorky side that I know he has (hello, he is level seventy-eight on Wizards Unite), I would say we were polar opposites. Yes, he’s good-looking, but if it wasn’t for me seeing his nerd side on our train journeys, I might not have looked twice at him. From the outside, we probably look out of place, standing next to each other like this, but I revel in it and raise my chin, soaking it all up and enjoying it while it lasts.

  He clears his throat and turns to face me. “Do you maybe have time for a drink in rather than a takeaway?” he asks, and I almost choke on air.

  My pulse races, and my insides jump for joy. That sounds very much like a coffee date … HELL YES!

  I start to smile and nod a yes, but then realisation brings me back down with a bump very quickly. I wince and look at my watch. “Oh, I don’t actually. I’m already pushing it for time to get to work.”

  “Ah, okay. Never mind. I just thought you could dry off a bit better before heading out into the cold with a wet top on.”

  He shuffles forward as the queue moves, and I bite the inside of my cheek because he looks as nervous as I feel. It’s adorable.

  “Why don’t you go try and dry off a bit while I order?” he offers, motioning to the toilets at the back of the café.

  “Good thinking, Batman,” I say and then immediately mentally face-palm myself when he chuckles.

  “What would you like?” he asks as I shrug out of my damp jacket.

  I tell him my order and smile gratefully as I prance to the back of the café and slip into the toilet. Once inside, I
sink against the wall and sigh. Of all the scenarios I’ve played out of how I wanted our first real conversation to go, me looking like a drowned rat was not part of any of them.

  “Get it together, Amy. Woman up.” I mentally shake myself and push away from the wall.

  Looking in the mirror, I groan. My shirt is beyond saving. Luckily for me, I do have a spare at work—that wasn’t a lie. The jacket though … I look down at the soggy jacket and wince before wetting my hand and trying to wash off as much of the coffee as I can. Once it’s as good as it’ll get, I press the button for the hand dryer and hold it under for a couple of minutes with one hand while I look at myself in the mirror.

  My reflection grimaces back at me, but if I’m honest, it could have been a lot worse. At least my make-up is still on point! I turn my head this way and that, carefully checking my reflection. My eyeliner is winged to perfection (I never leave the house without a sufficient wing, something I perfected at seventeen and never looked back from), and the coffee hasn’t washed off too much of my foundation. My cheeks even have a subtle glow to them that I suspect is more from the pleasure of seeing him than the highlighter I applied an hour ago. And my hair, with its freshly applied rose-pink-pastel dye job from last night, is looking super cute, even if I do say so myself. As luck would have it, I even opted for a stylish plaited bun today and spent ages this morning teasing it into a pretty style I copied from a YouTube tutorial. Thank the Lord for small mercies!

  Deciding to dry my shirt off a bit, I bend and, limbo-style, shove my chest under the dryer, giving it a quick blast of hot air too. When it’s as good as I can get it, I shrug on my jacket, take a couple of deep, calming breaths, and tell myself to be cool and not to fuck it up. Then, I step out of the door. He’s still in line, but his eyes are on the door of the bathroom, so as I step out, our gazes meet, and I can’t help but grin as I send him a goofy wave.

  Oh God, what happened to being cool, Amy?

  He bites his bottom lip, his eyes narrowing slightly.

  Oh dear God. That one look levels me and sends my hormones spiking. I clench my thighs because that little lip bite is so sexy that it almost knocks me sideways.

  I make my way over to his side.

  “That looks a bit better,” he greets, his eyes flicking down to my top.

  I gulp and nod, struck mute again.

  He holds out his hand and smiles. “I’m Jared, by the way. Jared Stone.”

  Jared. Jared Stone. It’s not what I expected. I figured a Mark or a Greg or something more generic, but Jared …

  I like it. It’s sexy, and it fits him perfectly.

  “Amy Clarke.”

  As his warm, strong hand envelops mine and he gives it a little squeeze, pleasure washes over my whole body. His long fingers brush against the back of my hand in a move that sends a little shiver down my spine. My first feel of his skin, and it is addictive. I’m already imagining that hand on other parts of my body.

  “Pleasure to meet you, Amy.” His smile is a smirk, as if he can tell what fantasies the small skin-on-skin contact is creating in my brain.

  He hasn’t let go, and I don’t want him to.

  “Who’s next?”

  The voice at the till breaks into our bubble, and our joined hands finally release as he turns to the side. I take a moment to press my hand against my racing heart while he orders our drinks. Once he’s paid, we move up to the collection area.

  “So, what’s it like, working on the trains?” he asks, nodding down at the company logo on my jacket.

  The collection area is busy, so we settle off to one side, our bodies too close together for me to form coherent thoughts.

  I shrug in reply. “It’s okay. It has its perks.” Mondays are a perk for me …

  “Large black coffee and an iced latte?” When she places down our drinks, Ruby looks up at me, and her eyes widen as she catches sight of my coffee-stained shirt. “Amy! What happened to you, girl?”

  I motion to Jared and shrug. “Hot guy got me wet.” It’s out of my mouth before I can stop it. My eyes widen in horror.

  Next to me, Jared snort-laughs, and I feel the pressure of his arm pressing against mine as his body shakes.

  I grin with relief. Another mental high five for me for making him laugh.

  See, I can talk to guys. Piece of cake.

  He picks up both of our drinks, the grin still on his face as he hands me mine. I wave over my shoulder at Ruby, knowing I’ll be expected to give her all the gossip tomorrow morning. Her eyes slowly travel the length of Jared as he turns towards the door. I get it; he’s very easy on the eye. I also notice a couple of other women glance in his direction—one of them even does a double-take and mouth-gape combo—as we walk out of the café.

  Jealousy rears inside me like an angry cat.

  Outside, we step around the milky puddle and smile sheepishly at each other as Jared kicks an ice cube under the table. “Guess the dog couldn’t manage it all then,” he jokes.

  I motion to my bike that’s been unceremoniously propped up against the wall outside. “So, this one’s me.”

  His mouth drops open, and his eyebrows rise as he takes in all its glory. “This is your ride?” He leans forward, running a hand over the rust-coated handlebars before using one finger to ring the bell. A soft tinkle fills the air.

  I place my drink cup into the front basket, adjusting the jumper I stuffed in there so it wedges the cup upright (this isn’t my first rodeo), and pull the bike to standing. It takes a little effort, because the thing isn’t exactly aerodynamic; it’s sturdy, and it was built from metal a long time before they realised they should make bicycles lightweight.

  “It gets me from A to B.” I brush a bit of dirt from the seat before swinging my leg over, balancing it between my thighs.

  Jared steps closer, placing a knee on either side of the front wheel and grinning down at it. “This is the saddest attempt at a bike I’ve ever seen.”

  I fake gasp. In all honesty, I know what my bike looks like; she’s one of those old-fashioned heritage ones. I believe she used to be pale green, but nowadays, she’s more rust than colour.

  “Don’t make fun of Bessy,” I scold playfully.

  He reaches out and squeezes one of my brakes, watching as the brake pad on the front wheel barely connects. One of his eyebrows rises. “Bessy,” he says. “And where did you find Bessy? A rubbish dump perhaps?”

  I feign shock and put my hand on my heart. “How very dare you, sir. I’ll have you know, I paid just three pounds at a car boot sale for this excellent piece of engineering.”

  “Three whole pounds? You were robbed.” He chuckles and shakes his head as he carefully wraps a hand over the handlebars and lifts the bike a couple of inches off the ground. “Damn, it weighs a ton.”

  I nod in acknowledgement. “Yep, but she’s reliable. And cheap to run. Plus, I didn’t get leg muscles like this from driving, you know; riding her is like a workout in itself. Who needs an expensive gym? Not this girl.”

  His eyes drop down to my thighs, lingering there for a second too long before flicking back up to meet mine. The appreciatory expression on his face makes my tummy clench. “You’re right; cycling is definitely working for you.”

  I feel my face flush with pleasure.

  He steps back and cocks his head to the side. “I should probably let you get to work before you’re late.”

  Work. Damn, I forgot about it again! “Oh, right, yeah. Well, thank you for the coffee.”

  He frowns down at the ground and shuffles on his feet. “Maybe … maybe we could get together another time. Dinner? Tonight even, if you’re free?”

  I can’t stop the dorky grin from stretching across my face. “Sure, I’d like that.”

  His gaze meets mine again. When he smiles, it’s so big that his eyes crinkle around the edges, and it makes my whole body sing.

  “Great. Here, put your number in, and I’ll text you later to sort out times and stuff.” He digs in his pocke
t and brings up his phone, waking up the screen and opening the keyboard.

  I try not to do a little happy dance as I punch my number into his phone.

  As soon as I hand it back to him, he presses a few buttons, and my own phone pings in my bag. “There. Now, you have mine too.”

  “Okay, well, I guess I’ll see you later. Bye, Jared.”

  “Bye, Amy.” He nods and steps back, giving me a wide berth to get past him, watching as I push away from the ground and put all my effort into making the heavy bike go.

  When I turn to wave over my shoulder, the bike wobbles a little, and I quickly grasp the handlebars again to regain control.

  I hear him chuckle behind me, and I can’t contain my broad grin.

  I did it. I finally talked to him, and all it took was a coffee in the face to get the conversation started. Why couldn’t I have thought of that months ago?

  three

  Heather lounges on my bed, rifling through the outfits I laid there to get her opinion on. With her free hand, she shovels Frosties straight from the box and into her mouth and crunches loudly, uncaring of the crumbs that drop onto my duvet or into her bra.

  “Nope. Nope. Nope,” she says, casually discarding each one into a messy pile with a flick of her wrist. “Amy, come on; just try on some of the stuff I brought round.”

  I frown into my wardrobe, scanning everything that’s left in there. I’ll be honest; there isn’t much. Almost everything I own is screwed up and has already been rejected by my best friend. I groan and let my head drop back, closing my eyes. “Hev, I can’t go on a first date with the guy and not be me. The only thing he’s seen me wear is a work uniform. I need to show him who I am and see if he runs away, screaming.” I turn back and pick up my cute jean shorts, the ones with the Union Jack flag sewn into the rear to conceal my modesty, and a gold strappy top. “What about this? These are my lucky shorts.”

  Her nose wrinkles as I hold the clothes against my underwear-clad body and add a big fake smile to try and convince her. “Weren’t you wearing that exact outfit when you pulled that Italian bloke who turned out to be a stalker?”