"Where IS Maree?" She shuffled impatiently in her seat. It was so typical of her girlfriend to forget to meet her at their coffee shop that afternoon. She looked around at the full-house; animated couples and comrades chatting about the coming weekend, suit-clad brokers holding meetings and scribbling on paper napkins, a gaggle of high-school girls playing "he said, she said."
Five more minutes and that's it. Damn it was hot. Where was she? She took a sip from her OJ. She was about to bend over and pick up her bag when a figure filled the doorway to the coffee shop. The sun was behind him and the glare left details fuzzy, but his silhouette was complete in itself to command attention. He moved in and was clearly looking about for someone. "Oh well, I can dream, cant I?" she quietly muttered under her breath. Still, he had a presence about him that demanded she continue her appraisal.
As he walked, nay – glided, about the entrance, she could see he was well tailored, designer jeans not ostentatious, classy, white polo, and, yes, his shoulders filled it well – this guy works out. Trying not to look too obvious, she looked about her, fidgeting with her bag trying to look busy. It dawned on her that every female and schoolgirl in the shop was openly gazing at him, some stroking their hair in obvious approval. He seemed aware, but in a way that suggested he was comfortable with himself in that situation without appearing arrogant.
He was tall-ish, six feet and a bit, neat, medium length dark hair with a slight wave, swept back and glossy. His face showed him to be in his early thirties, with a clear complexion that gave signs of outdoor sporting activity and remnants of what looked like a penchant to grin boyishly. Dark brown eyes, deep and intelligent, not puppy-dog at all. Handsome? Yes, but in a strong sense rather than some cutesy model-boy look. He exuded depth and well, when he turned away momentarily and she glimpsed his strong legs and tight butt, whew, it was REALLY hot in here....wasn't it?
Ever had days when you are as ripe to pick as a golden peach? The day destiny looks over, spots you and says, "Come hither, I have plans for you...?" Our male focus finally looked about and shrugged nonchalantly. He turns and walked towards her. She swallowed. He leaned over to her and in a smooth tone, asked "Excuse me, I'm supposed to meet a friend here, she hasn't arrived. Is that seat next to you taken? Do you mind if I sit there while I wait?"
She wanted to say, "Stay here for the rest of my life, honey." She wanted to say "Forget your friend, she doesn't deserve you, take me instead." Oh God, was she actually not going to say ANYTHING? She mustered some dignity. "Seems we're in the same boat. You're very welcome to wait here – I'm, Angela." And assertively held out her hand. Their eyes met and electricity flew as their hands clasped lightly and – almost – lingeringly. A smile creased his face – there was that grin hinted earlier – what a knockout. Why didn't they turn up the air -conditioning?
"I'm Aaron, thanks for the seat." He said sitting just close enough to her in the booth table so that they were next to each other. Doing what strangers do, they made small talk. They talked about the weather (he felt the heat today for some strange reason,) they talked about café society culture; they commented on the different types of people about the store and got deeper and deeper into conversation. On occasion their eyes would linger, locking, and longingly, there was that spark again, and both would shyly distract themselves into further conversation. They had plenty in common. He was a yachtsman by leisure and an Internet consultant by trade – she loved the idea of the yacht. He enjoyed drama, theatre and dance. She was a dancer and rising actress bordering on several stage opportunities – she made a decent living and it was her passion.
The schoolgirls caught her eye; they were giggling and making eyes at him. He politely ignored them as he listened to her speak about her recent role in an Ibsen play. She felt almost possessive. Girls, you're out of your league – he's with me. A trickle of succulent sweat escaped from her tied back long hair and ran down her back – but it felt sensuous and welcome. Her body was warm, relaxed, supple and strong – no stranger to working out. It reminded her that she too was attractive, that he might find her – attractive? She was more than that by now, the heat, the compatibility, this gorgeous male, her juices were positively simmering.
In their animated conversation, their hands brushed, sparks flew, fingers touched, and somehow stayed together. He looked at her, their eyes both revealing their yearning. "I don't know what happened to my friend...." And his voice trailed away as if to say "And I don't really care anymore." She moved next to him, her mouth aching for him. Their legs touching, her hand holding his where their legs touched. She wanted him, now, over and over. His face said it all too. So much heat! She wanted to explode.
