A new genre for me, and a different writing style. I can't tell if I like it or not, but hopefully you will. Is it a slow burn? Quite possibly. I do have a second part planned from his point of view, and hopefully it won't take another 3 years. There is a lot of repetition of words and phrases, and a good amount of it is intentional. So if that throws you off or takes you out of the story, sorry?
This hasn't been edited by anyone other than myself, so any mistakes are just that. All characters are over 18, and all writing is my own.
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What am I doing? This is a bad idea.
Knowing she was making a poor choice didn't make her feet move. She was no closer to the door now than when she began cursing herself for a fool ten minutes ago. It didn't matter that she shouldn't be doing it. She wanted it. She wanted him.
It would never have crossed her mind that she might end up in a hotel room, waiting for a 21 year old barista she'd known for all of six months. They'd never even had what she'd call a proper conversation in person, only through text. But here she was anyway. Maybe she was intrigued that he was so relentless in pursuing her, maybe she was just horny. Either way, she was waiting eagerly for his arrival.
She was a regular at the shop, and she honestly had paid very little attention to him when he started. She knew most of the staff, and while she'd even say she was friends with a few of them, she kept an intentionally healthy distance from the younger ones. Encouraged them during exams and congratulated them on graduations, sure, but she was 32--far too old for it not to be weird to be friends with people who were essentially (or sometimes actually) children. And then there was Levi.
She recognized he was attractive, of course, but in a removed way. He was tall and lean, an athlete's build with corded muscles and a trim waist. He had a tight ass that she would never admit to glancing at more than once. An angular, almost pointed face with high cheekbones, and a cupid's bow mouth set in a cocky grin. Mischievous blue eyes and dark blonde curls that rivaled her own black ones, just long enough to pull back into a bun. He wasn't a potential partner, so she simply moved on. She gathered haphazard breadcrumbs of his identity over time. Found out his name when his manager yelled across the store. An old fashioned name for a man who exuded youthful energy. Learned he had just finished his junior year at a local college when he complained about his exams and his worries about his senior course load. Discovered his age when another barista mentioned taking him out for his first "legal" drink. It wasn't long after that that the notes started.
She could admit that maybe she'd been too comfortable in the shop, but especially around him. She spent hours there. Stopped by most days, would come on weekends to read and do work, had even made friends with some of the other regulars. It delighted her to be greeted to a chorus of hellos when she walked in, and maybe she let her guard down a bit too much. Maybe she'd been too casual, had encouraged too much familiarity. Drawing lines was easy, but she'd never been good at staying on her side of them.
The first time he wrote her a note, it didn't show up on the ticket. He'd used his employee ID to pay for her drink, which was common for any of the baristas to do for regulars, but he'd been disappointed that it hadn't shown up. When she asked what he'd tried to write, he'd just grinned at her and told her, "You'll just have to wait for the next time."
The next time, she'd paid for her drink herself, and her entire face flushed when she looked at the comments on her ticket. It was ten numbers. She threw the ticket away in alarm, and chastised herself for getting too casual. He was 11 years younger than her and she certainly hadn't meant to give him any signals. She wouldn't embarrass him, though, and resolved to be more formal with him.
The next time, he wrote on her cup. Nothing lascivious, but still overly familiar. And so they continued. Some just telling her to have a good day or to cheer up, some telling her she looked pretty. Some telling her how hot he thought she was, some telling her exactly what he liked most (he had many ways to express his appreciation for her ass). Then the messages all became the same. Ten numbers.
She could have stopped him, she knew that. At first it was embarrassing and she'd tried to ignore it. She didn't want to get him fired, and as long as she didn't respond, it was harmless. She knew a part of her enjoyed it. It was flattering, even if it was totally inappropriate. But it was always nice to be appreciated, especially when she hadn't been on a date in months. Then, as they got more explicit, she wasn't sure what to do except ignore it.
He got bolder every day, and she wasn't the only one who noticed. She went in with a friend one day who kept remarking on how much he stared. She waved it off and turned around so she couldn't see. But she could feel his eyes on her until she left. Some of the other baristas had noticed him writing on her cups, but hadn't said anything to her directly. Only watched with thinly veiled curiosity. He began to find ways to touch her. A high five across the counter that she couldn't turn down without inviting questions from other staff, who did similar things for much more innocent reasons. Trailing his fingers over her hand when she reached for her cup. Loudly comparing the curls of their hair, reaching out to tug on hers, pushing it behind her ear and ghosting his fingers down her jaw. A hand on her waist when he passed by on his way to other parts of the store. Quickly, and only when no one else would notice. But increasingly brazen with every passing day.
She finally had to admit to herself how much she liked the attention. Loved seeing his eyes trail over her when she walked in. Exaggerated the sway of her hips when she knew he was watching. Pushed out her chest to display herself for his approval. He had been in control of this pursuit, and it thrilled her when she discovered that she too could find the right buttons to push to provoke him. She felt full of adrenaline after every encounter, her body tight and thrumming with energy. His attraction was more blatant as she responded in kind. The notes were always the same. Ten numbers. It became harder and harder to throw the tickets away. Eventually she didn't need them anymore. She couldn't forget them if she tried.
One day he was on his own. The shop was quiet, and she was tempted to turn back. But he'd seen her, and his hot gaze swept over her. She forced herself to keep walking, to pretend she wasn't affected by the force of his immediate, full attention.
"Hi Levi. Has it been quiet like this all day?" She bit her lip at her awkwardly high voice. Smooth. Totally normal.
"Not really. You came in at just the right time. What can I do for you? Whatever you need, I'm your man." His grin was wicked.
This is somebody's son. Damn near a child. You were already 11 before he was even born. Calm down.
"Just the usual, I guess."
His smile dimmed for a moment, then came back full force. "No problem at all." She couldn't help but stare. God, he was beautiful. She snapped out of it when she realized he was waiting for her to say something.
"What was that? Sorry I guess I spaced out."
He smirked, and her cheeks heated. "I was just asking if you were planning on texting me one of these days. I keep hoping you will."
Her eyes widened at his bluntness. There it was, out in the open. "I'm flattered, Levi," she stammered, "but that's not... it just wouldn't... I don't think that would be appropriate."
His smile was gone, his face uncharacteristically serious. "I can't lie, I really didn't think that's what you would say. You've given your number to some of the others."
"You're a nice kid," she started, trailing off when he scoffed at her. "
A nice kid? Do you show off your tits to every 'nice kid' you know? I know I'm not imagining it."
"Look, Levi, you're... you've got to understand that there's just not ever going to be anything here. You're 11 years younger than me. I don't understand why you keep pushing this, and I didn't want to embarrass either of us by bringing it up, but now that we're talking about it, you need to stop. You're a handsome guy, and I'm sure you've got plenty of girls your age you can go out with. I'm sorry, but this isn't ever going to happen."
He stared at her for a moment before smiling brightly, "So you think I'm handsome?"
She gaped at him. "Is that all you got from that? This can't continue. I've been really patient with you, I think, and it's just for the best--"
"We both know that's not true," he interrupted her with a flat tone. Her mouth opened and closed without a sound, and he continued. "You like it. You like me. You like it when I flirt. It turns you on. You know it turns me on. So why not? If it's just the age thing, that's not a big deal. It's just numbers that don't mean anything. We're both adults."
"It is a big deal because you're barely an adult, and I know you can't be serious about this. I don't know why you're so committed to this joke, but it's not funny anymore."
"I'm not joking. Plenty of guys are attracted to women older than them. It's not like you're old--you're just older than me. And you're really fucking hot. But fine. I'll stop. I'm not some creep who is going to keep hitting on a woman who isn't interested. Here's your coffee, it's on the house."
He set the cup on the counter and turned away, busying himself with wiping down the bar.
She hesitated before picking up the cup. It felt wrong, somehow, even though she knew it wasn't. "Well, thanks. I'll see you next time." He didn't respond, but she felt his eyes on her back as she walked out the door. She shivered.
She felt the absence of him, even as he stood in front of her. His smiles were still bright and pleasant, but bland. No longer just for her. His hands stayed firmly behind the counter, her drinks always placed in front of her before she could reach for him. Them. No more jokes and double entendres. No more trying to make her blush. She'd said no and he committed to it as surely as he had committed himself to pursuing her.
She woke with a moan, a hand in her shorts cupping her soaked sex. She'd been dreaming of him. Of the weight of his gaze on her skin as she spread herself open for him. Of that wicked smirk as his fingers trailed over her body. Of his muscles flexing as he held himself over her. Of her hands catching in his curls as his mouth moved down her body. Of that tight ass flexing as he thrust into her.
She groaned as her hips moved, seeking the friction of her palm covering her clit. She shouldn't give in, but she was so primed, so ready. She didn't tease, just thrust two fingers inside her sopping wet channel. Her other hand wormed its way to cup her breast, rolling a tight nipple in her hand.
He's right. I love the way he flirts. I love displaying myself for him.
Her fingers flew over her clit as she pushed herself towards release.
