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She smiles a gorgeous smile, and I tilt my head to admire it. I could stand and look at it like some people stand in front of paintings at art museums. Her entire face opens up, and her eyes crinkle. It isn’t a polite smile. It’s a smile that’s warm and real, something I don’t see often.
“Is it a deal breaker if I like it?” she asks.
I smile and shake my head. “I guess we can work around it.”
The coffee shop bell tinkles when I hold the door open for her. The shop is old-fashioned, with all wooden tables and chairs and a wooden coffee bar that stretches the length of an entire wall. Stools are under the bar, giving the place a malt shop vibe.
We walk to the ordering station, and a woman smiles at 2023. “Hi, Savannah. The usual?”
“Yep. Give me some extra whipped cream on that pumpkin spice.”
I roll my eyes when neither woman is looking. Great. Another pumpkin spice afficionado. All of them are, so I should have known. I roll up my sleeves and inwardly sigh. It’s not too bad, I guess. There are worse things they could like. For example, 2018 liked classical music, and wouldn’t even consider listening to my Metallica playlist.
“And for you?” the woman asks. Savannah, and I need to start thinking of her as her real name, turns her head to me with a curious look, like my coffee order is the most interesting part of the night.
“Coffee. Black. The kind that could cut glass.”
I pay, and we wait for our cups in silence except for Savannah’s feet tapping against the floor in her boots. I take the time to look at her legs. I’ve always been a leg man, and I’m not disappointed with hers. They’re long, and I’m glad she’s tall since 2021 was only four eleven. It was hard to lean down and kiss a woman who was more than a foot shorter than me. With me being a smidge over six feet tall, she didn’t even have to kneel when she blew me. It was kind of fun, but we looked awkward together in public.
The heels on Savannah’s boots lengthen her legs so that they look hard and strong, perfect for wrapping around me as I push into her. Heat moves up my back at the thought of it. Sure, I’ve enjoyed a few women this summer, mostly at the outdoor concerts and festivals I love, but this woman oozes warmth, tender caresses, and loving kisses all over my body. It’ll be nice to have a regular shag for a few months again.
I walk behind her on the way to the table, and I admire her walk, the swing of her hips, and the way she flicks her long hair back and looks over her shoulder at me. That look is so sexy that I could take her jacket off right here, kiss my way up her back, and bend her over the table.
But that would be wrong. I just can’t believe my luck that she was at this event, and it’ll be so easy this year. After all, it was a cuffing season event. Most of the time, I have to sweet talk the women into signing the contract and deal with them crying the day after Valentine’s Day as I wave the signed document in front of their faces and pack my meager duffle bag. It’s always an ugly sight.
When I saw the cuffing season speed dating event, I knew this would be a way to get a woman that wanted the same kind of relationship. Nice, cozy, and done in just a few months. No scenes. No crying.
“So, why were you at the cuffing season event, Savannah?” I ask. I need to know if she’s serious about limiting our arrangement to only a few months.
“Do you want the truth or what most men probably want to hear?”
“Uh, go with truth,” I laugh.
She takes a drink of her pumpkin spice abomination and swallows. “I’m trying to finish school, and I wanted my mom off my back about not dating anyone. If I have a partner for cuffing season, she promised to never give me a hard time about a lack of relationship again.”
Jackpot.
“That’s honest. It’s also awfully tempting to not be harassed, I guess,” I reply with a smile, trying to appear sympathetic. I blow on my own coffee and take a tentative drink.
“What about you?” she asks.
“I move around a lot. I’m not sure if I’m long-term boyfriend material, either.”
“Are you from around here?”
“I’m from Olgaton,” I say, referencing a town in the next county. “I move around the state a lot. Do you like camping?”
She shrugs. “Not really. Do you camp a lot? Is that a deal breaker?”
Nasty coffee and not a camper? I guess I can do anything for a few months in return for a warm bed to sleep in and the possibility of warm pussy.
“Not a deal breaker,” I smile. I can behave.
The next hour passes quickly, and I’m surprised at how easy it is to talk to her. We talk about people we may know in common, even though I’m four years older than her. Our high schools played sports against each other, but the only person we knew in common was a teacher that taught at both high schools at some point.
How is she only twenty-three? Most women I know that are a few years older are still trying to find a job and move out of their parents’ houses or stop living with roommates. This woman has an apartment, functional transportation, and a clear career path.
I peel the cardboard around my coffee drink and feel bad about myself as I listen to her tell me about her coworkers, her degree program, and her mother. She’s obviously smart and close to her mom. Is that going to backfire on me? Is she used to a level of loyalty that I just don’t understand?
