Page 9 of Flirt
When the woman reached the counter, she didn’t speak harshly, or even loudly, but the barista nodded quickly and nearly tripped over himself to fill her order. Black coffee. Nothing fancy, and yet, the kid behind the counter presented the paper cup to her as if he’d just poured her sixteen ounces of twenty-four karat, liquid gold.
When she walked away, Asher watched her go until Cameron’s voice pulled him back.
“One iced caramel macchiato, and…” Cameron trailed off, looking up at him expectantly.
“Iced vanilla latte,” he said, picking the first thing he saw on the chalkboard menu behind the counter.
Cameron shrugged, his eyes glinting with humor. “I figured you for a black coffee kind of guy, to be honest.”
“The writing thing?” he asked, being purposely vague.
“The writing thing.”
Asher shook his head, exhaling with a quiet huff. “You watch too much television. It’s not like I stay up all night, hunched over my computer in nothing but a robe, frantically writing to meet a deadline while pounding back insane amounts of caffeine.”
“You sure about that?” Those icy blue eyes sparked a little brighter, and Cameron’s mouth curved on one side. “Because, I have to say, that’s an oddly specific description.”
“Description is kind of my job.”
And yes, maybe he’d painted an accurate picture of what he looked like at the end of every book. Well, sometimes he wrote in his underwear instead of a robe, but he didn’t think the rest of the coffee shop needed to know that.
Placing a hand over his abdomen, Cameron laughed, a sound rich and vibrant that echoed through Asher and shifted something inside of him. “I’m sorry. I’m just trying to picture it.”
“Picture what exactly?” He liked this, liked the teasing.Who’d have guessed?
“You. Hair messy, unshaven, bags under your eyes, cursing at your imaginary friend while you try to hammer out an intense fight scene with only a pot of coffee andCSIreruns to keep you company.”
“Umm.” Eyes wide, stunned speechless, Asher just stared.
“Don’t worry,” Cameron assured him. “I’m not stalking you.”
“Of course not,” he recovered, offering an easy smile. “If you were, you’d know that I have a Keurig and prefer sixties sitcoms.”
The barista called Cameron’s name, and as he walked toward the counter to get their drinks, Asher swore he heard him mumble, “Why am I not surprised?”
Well, that made one of them. Asher was surprised as hell that he hadn’t run screaming from the café yet. He’dalready revealed more to Cameron than anyone else knew about him, apart from Luke. Luke was safe, though. Cameron…he hadn’t quite decided what Cameron Stone was, but it scared the hell out of him.
Talking to him was too easy. It felt too right, too natural, to share parts of himself with the guy. As long as they floated along the surface, he didn’t see any harm in it, but what else could Cameron make him reveal? What other secrets would the unassuming man pry from him with nothing more than a smile and a kind word?
Asher wasn’t a sharing-is-caring kind of guy. He was selfish, self-absorbed, self-centered, and probably a lot of other “self” words he couldn’t think of at the moment. He wasn’t a cold-hearted bastard or anything, but truthfully, he didn’t really care about other people’s lives. As long as it didn’t affect him, he figured live and let live—and under no circumstances did he need to hear about it.
With Cameron, he wanted to know all those little details. What he liked, what he disliked. What pushed his buttons, what made him tick.
“Hey, you okay?”
Crap, he’d totally checked out again. “I’m good.” He took his coffee and followed Cameron to a two-top table near the front windows. “I zone out sometimes. Occupational hazard.”
Cameron nodded as if that was a perfectly reasonable excuse for his pseudo-zombie act. “No need to explain. Iget it. My sister, Natalie, has always been the creative one in the family. She gets lost in her own head all the time.” Leaning back in his chair, he wrapped both hands around his cup and chuckled. “It used to drive my parents crazy.”
At the mention of family, Asher’s palm turned damp, and his stomach did a slow roll that had him clenching his teeth. Better to steer the conversation toward less revealing topics. Otherwise, he’d probably end up spilling is guts, and then he’d have to disappear on the most intriguing person he’d met in what felt like forever.
“You said you were a fan,” he blurted, then took a long sip of his—what the fuck had he ordered?—drink to steady his nerves. “I’m assuming you have questions.”
For several tense seconds, Cameron just stared at him, his head tilted a little to the left, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. Tension radiated through Asher’s muscles, and he fought not to squirm under the inspection. Leaning back in his seat, he stretched his legs out under the table, his thighs slightly parted, the picture of ease to anyone watching.
Eventually, Cameron nodded. “Have you ever wanted to write something else?”
Asher blinked. “I’ve thought about it,” he answered carefully, trying to sort through his thoughts. “I enjoy writing the Marshall Kane series. I wouldn’t keep doing it if I didn’t, but yes, there are other genres I think I’d like to try eventually.”
