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Looking around the tables, I saw a lot of regulars—including the cutie, my fantasy girl—plus three empty tables near the back. Mr. Infinite List ordering now wouldn’t take a table, and with only two others ahead of me in line, at least I could catch a spot to relax this morning.
The envelope in my jacket pocket was a lead weight, but I refused to letherhave that level of control over me. A good run is what I needed, something to get the endorphins flowing.
* * *
Jennifer
An increasein street noise announced the opening of the door to the coffee shop.
I glanced over, and there he was. Mr. Immaculate—tall, imposing, with steely gray eyes and a defined, sharp jaw any woman would find attractive, especially compared to the short, bald guy just behind him in line. Mr. Immaculate’s sandy blond hair was annoyingly in place, his suit perfectly tailored to span his broad shoulders and taper to his trim waist. The perfection of the man annoyed me to no end.
At least being in line behind Fireman Nick would annoy him.
He scanned the room.
I looked away and turned to catch the blonde to my left eying him.
Blondie was just short of drooling. Her eyes raked his form as she twirled the ends of her hair, and the corners of her mouth turned up. She was probably imagining his touch. She licked her lips. She moved her right hand over her left, concealing her ring.
Yuck. She disgusted me.
Hedisgusted me, because I knew what he’d done.
Blondie probably thought he was Adonis in a suit.
I knew better.
The suit hid the red skin of the devil himself, and the perfect hair hid his horns. One day soon, I would strip away the spit and polish and nail him to the wall, for all to see him as he really was: ghastly, cruel, and with an ugly soul.
Mr. Immaculate had his newspaper under his arm and his chin up, seeming confident that today he would win whatever struggles he encountered.
Think again.
I averted my eyes when he glanced my way. Looking back, I caught a smile on his lips as he approached the barista at the register.
He’d probably been checking out Blondie.
Straining to hear, I caught “grande mocha extra shot.” It was his standard order.
Sticking to the routine was good. Like every hunter, I knew the predictable prey was the easiest to get.
He tipped the barista with a dollar bill as he always did, a subterfuge of generosity meant to conceal his true character.
I hid behind my raised tablet and watched him while he waited for his order.
He didn’t check the paper.
Blondie stood.
Baldy, who’d been in line behind my prey, came over and kissed her before going to wait for his coffee.
Oops.
When Mr. Immaculate’s order was ready, he took it to a table in the corner and opened his newspaper. He read with cup in hand, taking short sips.
It took thirty seconds or so for his jaw to drop when he found the article.
The door opened again, and I glanced reflexively in that direction.
