Page 43 of The Taskmaster
I stood with my arms folded and watched him make her small latte. He put it in a glass cup and dumped it on the counter, then charged her way too much. She paid and then put her purse back into her bag. But when she picked the latte up, I don’t know if it was too hot or the glass was slippery, but her arm seemed to spasm, and she dropped the whole thing on the floor, coffee splattering and glass smashing everywhere.
“Oh my God,” she cried, covering her mouth with her hands and staring at the floor. “I’m such an idiot. Fuck. I’m so sorry.” And then, in a quieter tone, she muttered, “I hate my life.” And my irritation turned to something else entirely.
The barista didn’t hide his disdain, and in his monotone voice said, “It’s fine. I’ll clear it up. Do you want to buy another one?”
And I fucking lost it.
“No. She doesn’t want to buy another one,” I hissed through my helmet. “For the prices you charge, you can give her one on the house.” I took my helmet off, and when he saw my tattoos, then the pissed off look on my face, his demeanour changed instantly.
“Of course. That’s what I meant.” He swallowed nervously, then turned to Abigail and said, “I’ll make another one...”
“A large latte,” I added. “With full-fat milk.”
“A large,” he reiterated. “And I’ll bring it over to your table.”
“You can add a black coffee to that order, too. No sugar. Do you want a cake?” I asked, turning to Abigail.
She just stared at me, her eyes bulging and her mouth hanging open as she realised who I was. Then she shut it before saying, “No. Just the coffee is fine.”
I turned back to the asshole barista and gave him a wide, fake smile. “Two coffees. And we’ll be over there.” I pointed to a free table in the corner.
Abigail stood still, looking at me dumbstruck, and then she said, “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Why would you?” I shrugged, then held my arm out, gesturing to the free table in the corner and for her to make her way over there.
She whipped her head around to look at the table, then back at me and said, “Oh... ermmm.... yes... of course.”
She looked suspicious, like she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t have. And I was intrigued, as I always was when I saw her. I’d spent the night lying with her in my arms, but I didn’t know a damn thing about her, other than she smelt delicious, looked beautiful, and made me want to throw every damn rule I had out of the window and steal her away. She messed with my damn senses, and I had to have more. The girl with the dark curls and devious eyes. I loved this game we were playing. The one where I knew everything and she knew nothing.
“After you,” I said, and walked behind her as she went over to the empty table, inhaling her scent, and following like she was a damn siren.
I put my helmet on the table and sat down in the seat right in the corner, overlooking the entrance and the rest of the café. I preferred to oversee my surroundings and be ready to act if it was needed. It was the best way to stay alert. She sat opposite me, putting her bag on the floor, then resting her hands on the table.
“Do you live around here?” she asked.
“No.”
“Visiting friends?”
“No.”
She laughed nervously. “So you wanted a coffee fix and this place is your favourite?”
“With staff like that?” I nodded to the guy behind the counter who was making our drinks, sweating profusely now and side-eyeing me like he thought I might jump him in a dark alley later. Maybe I would.
“So what are you doing out here?” she asked, staring at me with suspicion.
“Research.” I smiled slyly and shot back, “And what about you? Why are you out here and not at work today?”
Her cheeks flushed, and she took her hands off the table and slid them onto her lap. I fucking loved the way I affected her.
She nodded to my helmet.
“You ride a motorbike?” She was trying to throw me off the scent, ignoring my question and throwing out another one to distract me.
“No. I just carry the helmet to impress women.”
That made her relax a little and her laugh was more genuine this time.
