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“Long black, double shot!” the barista shouted.
The guy pocketed his phone and gave Chris one last look before he moved to get his coffee.
Chris watched him, his hands flexing and releasing inside his pockets. He wasn’t sure if that was shooting his shot, but if it was, he just missed horribly.
He watched the guy take his coffee and move into the laneway.
He wanted to follow him.
His phone rang again as the barista shouted, “Latte, double shot, oat milk!”
Chris took it, thanked him, and strolled briskly in the direction the guy was heading. The opposite direction he needed to go. His long legs ate up the cobblestones as he followed the black suit and blonde head.
He could shoot better than that.
“Hi,” he said breathlessly as he came up beside him.
The guy gave him a surprised look. “Hi,” he replied, slightly amused.
“Can I get your number?” Chris asked because, fuck it.
The guy actually laughed. “You wanna be a notch on my bedpost?” he replied, smiling.
Chris huffed a startled laugh. He would actually.
They were walking briskly, and as Chris looked down at the guy, he found him looking back evenly. He was still closed off, and Chris thought he seemed tired, washed out.
“Well?” Chris asked and grinned at him. His heart was pounding.
The guy stopped suddenly and Chris had to backtrack a few steps.
“We haven’t met,” the guy said and sipped his coffee. He lowered his voice, even though people were streaming around them, annoyed at the break of the morning rush hour flow. “But if you’re looking for a hook-up, I’m not your guy.”
Chris deflated. He didn’t want to lie to the guy. But, well, he really wanted to see him again.
“A date then?”
Chris usually took his hook-ups out first anyway; he’d just not mention he was a one and done kind of guy.
But the guy smiled, humourless. “Definitely not.”
Chris was taken aback. And his fucking phone was ringing again.
“You gonna get that?” the guy nodded at Chris’ suit coat, where his phone was blaring.
“It can wait,” he said, even though it really couldn’t. “How about coffee?”
“Look,” the guy said, but he said it like he was about to push a boulder up a mountain and really couldn’t be bothered.
“Don’t answer now,” Chris decided. “I’m not gonna hound someone who’s not into it,” he peered at the guy and even though he was giving off a cold vibe, Chris got the feeling he was maybe, possibly interested. “But I get coffee there most mornings. And look,” he pulled out his phone—seven missed calls from Brendan—and opened up his contacts. “What’s your name?”
The guy stared at him, but eventually blew out a breath and answered. “Joaquin.”
Chris searched, found it, and air-dropped his number. He heard the guy’s phone ping.
“Call me,” he said as he started walking backwards. “I wouldn’t mind being a notch on your bedpost.”
Joaquin huffed a short laugh, shook his head and turned to head wherever he was headed.
