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Good thing I’m driving.
“Do you have time to get a coffee and talk for a minute?” I say, not at all implying that I need to be in a public location for the conversation I’d like to have. Just in case he goes ballistic when he realizes how onto him I happen to be.
Actually, since CPS still can’t seem to find his house even when I send them a map with a big red X, maybe I should push every button this guy has and get the cops to grab him while we’re out? Then I can come back and kidnap Andromeda before he sweet-talks or buys his way out of prison.
The plan is practically perfect in every way.
“Coffee.” Lifting a hand, Pollux rubs the back of his neck and glances at the sky. “Isn’t it a little late for stimulants?”
He’s not going to stand here, drunk, and say that to me. I just know he isn’t. Must be imagining it.
Nevertheless, I link my hands behind my back and lean fully into my sweet elementary school teacher robes. “We can get decaf, or herbal tea. I know a nice little place nearby.”
He steps outside, closes the door behind him, and says, “Decaffeinated coffee in this country retains approximately three percent of the caffeine content. You have to go to Europe in order to get truly decaffeinated coffee, since they require ninety-nine point nine percent of the caffeine to be removed in order to consider it decaf.” His fingers flex at his sides, and he clears his throat. “Do you want to go to Europe?”
I think he’s making fun of me, but I am genuinely unsure. “That’s all right. I can handle three percent. Or I’ll get herbal tea. That doesn’t have any caffeine in it, right?” I could not care less about drinking caffeine at this hour. I still have lesson plans to adjust for Riley and Josh when I get home. Might as well order it straight and put it in an IV bag.
“Usually, no. However, tea leaves that contain caffeine do actually have a higher percentage per milligram than unbrewed coffee beans. Depending on how you brew, that means…” He blinks at me. “I’m sensing I’ve missed the point.”
I’m sensing I’ve stopped smiling. Is this guy actually a scientist of some kind who, somehow, legally cooks up drugs in his basement? Let’s cross our fingers on that one. After all, I will gladly accept being wrong about everything. I just really need some solid evidence to untick all the horrible red flag boxes first.
At the very least, when he tucks his giant frame into my less-than-giant car, he doesn’t smell like alcohol. Just. Coconut and chai.
Which brings up memories from two nights ago yet again.
I put on some music to drown out the impeccable silence as I head toward my go-to cafe.
The stragglers in the rustic shop—a handful of students on laptops, mostly—all pause the second Pollux strides in. They look up, frozen. Mouths fall open. Eyes follow his steps. And, okay, it’s not the kind of validation I was expecting, but I do appreciate the solid proof I’m not a terrible person for dreaming about him in an intimate setting.
He is pretty.
Very pretty.
I’m watching him a little too intensely while he takes in the large menu posted behind the counter.
Dark eyes. Dark hair. Dark clothes.
He’s a large shadow with the bone structure of an old, Grecian statue. There’s something uniquely beautiful about the way he stands, confident and calm. In control. Like he can stop the very breaths of the people around him. But instead of that awareness making him cocky…it just seems to make him careful.
After all, every breath in this place is caught right now, and if the people don’t remember to breathe again soon, they’ll suffocate.
“These names are complicated,” he murmurs as he drops his attention to me. “I’m sorry, dearest. I have no idea what many of these things are.”
I shake myself out of the blinding stupid that is my infatuation and smile as though, in the back of my twisted mind, dearest isn’t whispering against my skin from monster-Pollux’s soft lips. “Don’t normally come to places like this, do you?”
“I generally only ever go through the self-checkout at Martyn’s Grocery Mart, and only because of Meda.”
Oh? The front door bell chimes, so I make a horrible mistake of touching Pollux’s arm and drawing him away from the counter so the person who just came in can go in front of us.
Solid.
Solid muscle.
Hot dang.
Regaining myself, I tuck my hand behind me and grip my skirt. “Because of Meda?” I prompt.
“Unfortunately, she has developed a taste for processed foods. She’s obsessed with pockets.”
