Chapter 6 Madison
Madison
I’m not one to leave a diem un-carpe’d.
The café where I get Abuela’s favorite muffins, The Beanerie, is a few blocks from my apartment.
It’s so cute and cozy with greenery and books lining the walls.
The scent of espresso and the jazz music softly playing feel like a big hug.
Sometimes I bring my laptop, order lunch, and sit in the corner to people-watch while I eat.
I can’t stay today—as usual, I’m running a bit behind—so I order my latte and muffins to go, tuck the white paper bag into my purse, and sit at one of the empty tables to wait for my drink.
There were a few people ahead of me in line, so while I wait, I pull up the IRC and bite down on a smile when I see who’s online.
mermaidav: I’ve never thought to ask this, but I have a very important question.
SpyderMan: Oh?
mermaidav: Think carefully about how you answer. This could determine the course of our friendship going forward.
SpyderMan: I don’t think anything good has ever followed those words. Out with it. You’re making me nervous.
mermaidav: How do you take your coffee?
SpyderMan: Dumped down the sink.
The unexpected answer makes a laugh punch out from my chest, and I glance up to see if anyone heard the unflattering noise. The man at the table next to me looks up when I glance at him, but his attention is on his own small screen.
mermaidav: What?? Not even a latte? Not even a lavender latte? I swear, it’ll change your life.
SpyderMan: My energy comes fruit-flavored and canned, as God intended.
mermaidav: I’ll have to look it up, but I think that might actually be the definition of blasphemy.
SpyderMan: I’m dead to you now, I suppose.
mermaidav: Oh, you’re not going to get rid of me that easily. It takes a lot for me to let someone in, but once you’re in, you’re stuck with me for life. Can you tell I’m a Scorpio?
SpyderMan: Didn’t realize you were into astrology
mermaidav: What can I say? I’m a simple gal. I like lattes, star charts and books with wieners.
SpyderMan: lol I don’t think anyone would ever dare call you simple, though I’ll admit I’m surprised you listen to the stars.
mermaidav: Why? Who cares if astrology is real or not? Let girls have our fun, silly things.
SpyderMan: I meant, “I’m surprised you listen to anyone, let alone the stars, you menace.”
My face splits into a smile. A menace. I like that.
mermaidav: Ha. True. What’s your sign?
SpyderMan: Also a Scorpio.
Oooh! Another Scorpio?! Talk about a sign from the universe.
Since he’s like me, I don’t need to read about his traits on my favorite astrology app.
He’s thoughtful, possessive, secretive and emotionally deep.
Still, I open the well-loved app to check our compatibility.
My eyes flick across the paragraph, memorizing the words.
Scorpio-Scorpio relationships are intensely passionate and characterized by a strong psychic connection. Their bond can move mountains, but only if they can move past power struggles and challenges that arise from mutual possessiveness and desire for control.
Well, sign me the fuck up. I’m not afraid of a little hard work.
mermaidav: A Scorpion King. Love it. I’d suggest changing your handle, but I like the spy/spiderman pun too much. It always makes me picture Peter Parker in a suit, drinking a shaken and not stirred martini.
SpyderMan: A James Bond and superhero reference in the same sentence? I’m in love. Or trouble. Maybe both.
Hard same, my guy.
Wearing a big, stupid grin, I squirm around in my seat, trying to get comfortable and relieve some pressure on my knees from too-short legs dangling over the side of the booth seat.
SpyderMan: Wish I could stick around to chat, but I’m off.
mermaidav: You going to tell me to be good?
SpyderMan: Haha well, considering your reaction last time, I would, but…
mermaidav: I’d remind you that you literally can’t tell me what to do.
SpyderMan: Yeah, that’s about what I’d expect from my favorite little menace.
Not just a menace, but his favorite little menace? In his own words… fuck me. He’s out for blood today. Conversations like this make it so hard to let go of this silly crush—those flashes of a more personal side that I’d really love to know better. A dominant, authoritative, playful side.
Like, be good? Fucking make me, SpyderMan.
Now I’m horny. In public. Too bad my orgasms are hard-won and the result of intense focus and vibrations, or I’d rub one out in the bathroom or something to take the edge off.
“I’ve got a lavender latte!”
Nose still buried in my phone, I stand and grab for my drink, hand knocking into someone else’s and nearly spilling the to-go cup.
“I’m sorry!” I gasp out as he says at the same time, “Oh! My apologies!”
I feel his hand on my elbow, steadying me even though I don’t need it, and his warmth brushes against my side.
Usually, I don’t love having strangers in my personal space like that, but this one’s on me because I should have been paying attention.
Sheepishly, I look up… and up—even in my 3” Mary Janes, I’m still ridiculously shorter than him—and our eyes lock.
Time itself fucking stops as I take in Mr. Tall, Pale, and Inked.
His tawny hair flops just to the side of one of his incredible gray eyes, framed with long dark lashes and heavy brows.
His nose is straight, drawing my eyes to full lips that are slowly spreading into a smirk.
His chin is broad, and the edges of his jaw could cut glass.
Colorful tattoos wrap around both arms, wrist to bicep, and I’m willing to bet they extend up past the rolled sleeves of his button down.
I can see a flash of them above the collar, around the base of his throat.
Show me yours and I’ll show you mine…
My stomach does a little flip behind my navel, seeing he’s giving me the same kind of thoroughly interested once-over. Just my fucking type, and attracted to me? No shit. Well, I’m not one to leave a diem un-carpe’d.
“You ordered a lavender latte, too?” I ask, a slightly incredulous smile playing at the corners of my lips.
“I like sweet things,” he replies as a smile spreads across his mouth, nearly taking my fucking breath away.
It’s downright impish, how his lips curl like that and how his cheeks round, emphasizing the angularity of his jaw and hairline.
There’s also a faint outline of a dimple in one of his cheeks.
And he’s British too? His voice is smoother than melted chocolate, and just as decadent.
“So… do you want this sweet thing?” I ask slowly, letting the double entendre linger in the air between us.
His answering smirk just about melts me, as does the gentle cock of his head to the side that makes his hair fall into his eye. He gestures to the latte, indicating that I should go for it.
“And he’s chivalrous,” I grin.
“Actually, that’s not—”
“Here’s your latte, sir,” the barista says, sliding another cup towards my stranger.
When I lift my eyebrows, his smile turns rueful. “I admit, when I went for it, I only heard the latte part.”
“A plain latte? Ugh, boring,” I tease.
“Classic,” he counters.
A sense of déjà vu washes over me, prickling at the back of my brain.
You call it boring; I’d call it classic.
At the thought of SpyderMan, the smile freezes on my face.
Suddenly, this exchange feels… weird. Wait, why do I feel guilty?
Like just by being attracted to someone and having a playful, flirty conversation means I somehow cheated on SpyderMan or something?
That’s kind of messed up. It’s not like I can just leave my life on hold, waiting for SpyderMan to cross the lines we’ve drawn in the hardware. I’d die in that chastity belt.
“Same word, different font,” I insist, shaking off the unwelcome feelings and anchoring myself back in the moment—the moment where this fine-ass British man is staring at me like I’m the crumpet for his tea. “Neither one means fun.”
“Point taken. If I promise I’m more fun than my coffee order, would you let me take you out sometime?”
My heart thumps hard in my chest. Maybe I read into things too much, but to me there’s a world of difference between “would you like to go out with me” and “let me take you out.” Asking permission versus stating intention.
The former is sweet and gentle; the latter is confident and assertive.
And even though he kind of looks like the sweet, gentle nerd with his button-down and soft-spoken demeanor, there’s clearly something a bit more dominant lurking under the surface.
Sometimes, I really love the universe. Because somehow, when I’m ovulating and really horny and need it most, the universe has sent me a guy who’s interested in me. A hot guy who looks like he knows how to fuck hard.
And Dios, do I need a hard fuck.
“You usually ask girls out before asking their names?” I challenge.
“Madison, right?” he says, but it’s not really a question.
The sound of my name on his lips in that silky, rich accent sends a shiver down my spine.
Then, what he said catches up with me, and I frown.
Just as I’m about to ask how he knows my name, he looks down pointedly at the cup in my hands—the one that has MADISON written just under the rim, facing him.
I laugh. “Chivalrous and observant? This just keeps getting better.”
“Oh my God, I feel like I’m watching a Hallmark movie,” someone whispers, just loud enough for both of us to hear it.
My eyes dart over, and the older woman behind the counter is clutching the bottom of her apron and staring at the two of us with a keyed-up expression and a faint smile.
“Your chemistry just electrocuted me from over there.”
We both huff a laugh and step to the side, creating some distance and getting out of the way of anyone else who needs to pick up their drink.
“Well,” I peer down at his cup, “Peter…”
He interrupts, like he’s expecting a brush-off for some unfathomable reason and wants to get ahead of it. “If you’re not sure, I’ll leave the ball in your court. Hand me your phone—I’ll add my number. You can let me know if you want to meet.”
Not just confident and dominant, but a little bit bossy? Oh, Petey boy, we’re going to have fun.
Fighting every horny cell in my body, I shake my head. Maybe I’m paranoid, but I won’t hand my phone or give my number to a stranger—not even one this devastating. After all, I’m sort of a criminal. What if he works with the police? I’d like to do a bit of research on this guy first.
“I’ll do it.” I create a new contact for him under Flick-the-Bean Peter, typing awkwardly with one hand. “Go ahead.”
He rattles off his number, and I add it, then tuck my phone into my purse. His eyes track the movement, which feels kind of weird. “Well, I’ve got to get going. Lovely to meet you, Madison.”
“Likewise. I’m glad you tried to steal my coffee.”
He chuckles. “So am I. A bit gutted you caught me, though. A lavender latte sounds quite nice.”
“Trust me, it’s amazing.”
“So I’m told.”