Page 20 of Becoming His Perfect Daddy
I glanced over my shoulder as well, catching the mesmerizing person’s gaze again. I swallowed quickly, hoping my voice would come out okay. “Did you order a vanilla latte as well?”
The person nodded slowly, almost as if they hadn’t expected me to speak with them, then shuffled forward. “Y-yes, yeah. I ordered a vanilla latte with whole milk. For Sam.”
I picked up the cup and scrutinized it, finding that the name scratched on the side of it was barely legible. I couldn’t tell if the first letter was an S or a C, either. So I started laughing. “Seriously? That’s too good.”
Sam eyed me curiously for a minute, chocolate-brown eyes sparkling as if holding back laughter. “What do you mean?”
I turned back to the barista, whose brows were furrowed like he couldn’t figure out what happened. That just made me laugh harder.
The two of them were looking at me like I had two heads.
When I caught my breath, I apologized. “I’m so sorry. We’re gonna blame this on my asshole friend.” Since no one else was around, I raised my voice for that last part so Tris would hear. The fucker just raised his disposable coffee cup as if to acknowledge an award or something. “My friend likes to give me random nicknames. Today was Cam, apparently.”
I lifted the cup in the air between the three of us.
“See here? The little squiggle could be a C or an S, depending on if the pen dragged on the cup too long or not.”
Sam finally caught on to the mistake and started laughing, too. Which set me off again. Even the barista started chuckling as he got to work making a second vanilla latte.
I turned to the intriguing person named Sam and stuck out my hand. “We haven’t officially met, and my name isnotCam. It’s Cameron.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Sam extended their hand, and I noticed a thin bracelet poking out from under the sleeve of their leather jacket. It had the pink, blue, and white colors of the trans flag with small he/him letters woven in the strands.
Him.
Before I really had time to process that, his hand slid into mine, and sparks shot out from where our skin touched, electrifying my entire body.Holy fuck.“Sam.”
“It’s very nice to meet you, Sam.”
“You as well, Cameron.” God, I loved the way he said my name. “Sorry about the mix-up—I usually order a mocha, but I wanted to try something different today, and I heard this coffee shop is famous for its vanilla lattes.”
He blushed, and I smiled. “They are. Have you not been here before?”
He shook his head. “No. I had a . . . bad experience at my usual place several months back, so I’m finally venturing back out into the coffee world and trying something new.” His gaze perused the décor. “It’s so cool in here.”
I grinned. “It is.” I had the sudden urge to invite him to join Tristan and me, but something held me back. Conversation with him was easy, and we’d seemed to settle into each other’s presence more easily than I’d ever experienced with another person.
But I wasn’t sure I could do this.
In the short time we’d spoken, the connection I’d initially felt to him across the coffee shop had only gotten stronger. Up close, I noticed little things about him: his flattering masculine haircut, his strong shoulders, even the beginnings of an Adam’s applethat I was jealous of. But what intrigued me more was the way he almost had to remind himself to stand tall, be confident.
And fuck, it was hot as hell when he did.
The barista called Sam’s name and handed him his latte, and I blinked back at the man standing across from me as we stepped to the side, farther away from Tristan—to where he hopefully couldn’t hear us.
Sam was staring down at his cup when he asked, “Uh, Cameron?”
I hesitated, curious but wanting those gorgeous brown eyes on me before I replied. Once he lifted his gaze to mine, I obliged. “Yes?”
His face turned a little red, and I was instantly curious. And I almost swooned, too, because that was just adorable. “Can I tell you something?”
I smiled. “Of course.”
“I, uh, I know who you are.”
My brows furrowed. “Um, okay . . .”
He instantly threw a hand in the air between us. “I promise, I’m not a stalker or anything. I just . . . I love your books.”
