WEDNESDAY: With Lots of Cream (Hookup Café Book 3) Read online

  Following behind him back inside, I watched the back pockets of his nice jeans with a smile on my face. Popping behind the counter, I watched him stroll out the front door. He was going to sing? I had to check out the sign up list. I didn’t remember a Nate on it. I began to wonder when he had come in and if someone else had cancelled. Not that any of it really mattered, but was he by chance coming back to see me? I hope that was the case. I was also interested in hearing him sing and wondered what he would be singing. What did I picture him singing? New country would be nice—something to have in common. He seemed like the type to sing something original. Maybe something he wrote recently about a broken heart or about running away from his feelings. He had a story. We all had stories, some worse than others, some better. I like to add a bit of fashion to mine to give them texture and movement, like the flow of silk on a windy day as…

  She watched him walk out of her life. She wondered if it was forever or if he told the truth and would return to sing to her.

  I needed to get that written down in my book so I quickly grabbed it from below the counter and scribbled as I was caught by my boss.

  Pansie asked to speak to me privately.

  Once one of the teen girls took my place, I went to meet her at a table and I began to rattle off my apologies right away. “Sorry, Bossy-Pan, I didn’t mean to attack the customer. I just wanted him to shut up.” Better to be upfront.

  “You attacked a customer? When?”

  “Not exactly attacked as in hit… physically maimed kind of attack. I… I kissed him… on the mouth… took him by surprise.” I stammered as I confessed, looking down and rubbing my hands together.

  “What?!” I glanced up to see a questioning look on her face.

  I was quick to explain that he was commenting about seeing me in a compromising position and I didn’t want our customers to hear. My hands were full with a book and coffee so I used the next best things I could find—my lips. I almost told Pansie about the bar, but it was close enough to the truth.

  “Oh, thank God. As long as he doesn’t file a sexual harassment complaint about you. Not sure that works customer to worker. I need to look into that. But, no, that’s not it… Marzi and I were talking…”

  “Okay. I can explain about that too. She was dancing with the delivery guy and… Well, I’m moonlighting… and the kiss guy… well, he was there drinking beer and he saw me singing with a band but in the back.” I stopped before I got to my disguise and she thought that she had a looney-tooney working for her in her café.

  “Wow, Evie, I’m a bit shocked… I swear I don’t even know you. However, before you confess anymore to me, I think you need to let me speak. And by the way, never become a spy—you’d fold within seconds and give away trade secrets.” She stopped and laughed.

  “Only about myself when I think that it might affect other people or I’m in the wrong. Otherwise, I’m good at keeping other people’s secrets.” I’d done it all of my life.

  There was so much that I kept hidden—changing my appearance as soon as I left home for college. I wanted to experience life as any other student. Since I had been photographed starting at birth, there was only one way to go unnoticed; a bottle of dye and colored contacts. My first name I shortened to Evie and my last name was no problem since I used my father’s non-stage name. I became a completely new person when I wasn’t with my parents and I loved the anonymity.

  Knowing that it was hard to trust anyone to keep such a big secret, I didn’t tell a soul. I even asked my parents to have my grandparents drop me at school and begged them to not visit me. Correspondence between us was even done through alias email addresses and any packages arrived from an unrecognizable name and location. The only thing I couldn’t keep them from attending was my graduation.

  Fortunately, they agreed to do it incognito, wearing disguises—something they had no problem with doing since becoming famous. And I have to admit I was happy to have them with me to celebrate my achievement of receiving a degree in English. Surprise to my parents who thought that I was studying music. I did take several lower division music courses because they were easy for me coming from a long line of musicians who were always happy to teach me about the history of music. Not to mention, I had been taught to read music and play the piano to a point, as guitar was my instrument of choice—I did take some advanced guitar courses.

  My English declaration was due to my love of writing poetry. I figured that learning about the great poets and writers of the world along with their brilliant works would only serve my own poetry writing. My poetry, I found, easily translated into lyrics for songs. My different roommates teased me that I was going to be the next Taylor Swift. I laughed to myself because I knew that I would never have her performance presence—maybe her songwriting ability, but never her stage savvy.

  Being involved in the open mic nights at the café, I had moments that I yearned to have the nerve to pop up on the stage to do more than announce the next performer. But I had yet to add my name to the list and continued to mill about the place singing softly—louder when customers were sparse. And after meeting Nate, knowing that he planned to attend our next Wednesday night event, I was definitely sealing my lips and keeping mine from attacking his again. No musical notes would be slipping out with him nearby. At least that was what I told myself earlier in the day as I arrived at the café with a great lineup of repeat performers along with the guy—invading my mind and poetic words much too often—clearly marked as a definite performer. No problem were my last famous words before he graced the café with his dynamic presence.

  Chapter Three…

  I really loved the whole set up for Open Mic Wednesday in Cafélicious. Pansie and Marzi’s grandparents were heavy into the music as rock and roll promoters. In fact, they knew my parents quite well and had lined them up to perform at different festivals across the country. I remained relatively quiet and never said a word when Pansie introduced me to her grandparents—recognizing them right away—when they came in to help her out with the stage, lighting, and musical instruments.

  They contributed their input to the area that her contractor had built a platform inside of popped out windows. And they brought in their daughter Moreen’s upright piano to sit on the stage along with stools, microphones with stands, and a secondhand drum set they got from some roadies. Extra electrical outlets were installed for any equipment we wanted to add such as amps and soundboards. Then special lighting was added above and to the sides to provide light to the stage with vibrant colors and straight-up spotlights. In addition to everything supplied, they hooked Pansie up with a guy to take care of the lighting and sound and then it was all set to go. It looked spectacular when it was finished and I have to say that it was the biggest draw for me to want to work in the café.

  If only I could get up the courage to take my experience a step forward. It wasn’t going to be any time soon I knew since our line-up was booked solid. Looking over the list and talking with the guy in charge of making everyone look and sound good, I smiled at the name first up on the schedule since someone asked to switch with his slot—Nate. I couldn’t wait to see him again while another part of me was unsettled—nervous about him being so close to me.

  “You okay? It’s time for you to get things started,” Pansie was nudging me. I needed to get my shit together before she fired me after everything I had been doing in the café and outside—my confessions. I nodded at her. Then after wiping my sweaty palms on my apron, I grabbed my card list and walked up to the stage. Showtime!

  “Welcome to Open Mic Wednesday,” I announced as one gorgeous, familiar man sat close to the stage sporting his sexy arm tats that did things to me that I couldn’t explain. It was such a busy night and loud as I looked around, but once I spoke there was a hush around the room. And at the same time his shouted order, “with lots of cream,” reverberated around the café and struck me. His words were nothing more than how he took his coffee, but they left me baffled as my eyes w
ere drawn to his icy blue ones. Drawing a blank and moving as if I was on automatic pilot or out of control with my body’s movements, I forgot to introduce the first performer, and reached down to grab Nate’s guitar. Then out of the blue I belted out the first song that popped into my head staring straight at him: Close to me… fight these feelings… hard to breathe… this moment… your smile… just a kiss on your lips… waiting for my whole life…

  It was official, I was lost in the moment and out of my fucking head… mind… singing Just A Kiss by Lady A to Nate as if no one else was in the entire room. It was the last strum of the guitar and applause that finally hit me and reminded me where I was and what I had done. I couldn’t find my voices but, luckily, Nate came to my rescue stepping up on the stage and introducing himself for his time slot. Handing him his guitar with what I hoped he knew was meant to be an apologetic look, I left the stage, and walked to the back to watch him.

  My eyes were glued to him as he sang a song beautifully that I had never heard of before, maybe an original. Words of love and loss and starting again, it had all the makings for a good country song. A story that grabbed you, pulled you in deep, and had you grabbing for a nearby napkin to dry your eyes. One more heart crushing song from him, he stepped down, and I made my way back on stage to properly thank Nate for his awesome songs and then introduced the next performer. Heading to my usual spot at the back once more, Nate stood up from his table, gesturing for a couple to take his spot. My heart sunk at the thought of him leaving, but he wasn’t leaving at all.

  Surprised and delighted… and nervous, he made his way toward me. “You were great,” he whispered in my ear and then followed up his words with his lips skimming over the skin on my neck. And then he spent the rest of the night at my side discreetly caressing different parts of my body, nursing a few beers that Pansie brought him along with a wink to me. That was a better sign than I had anticipated; her not telling me that I hadn’t done anything terribly wrong and, obviously, Nate wasn’t complaining about his lack of stage time.

  Closing time, he hung around helping me to turn chairs over onto all of the tables, enabling the floors to be cleaned before the next morning’s arrivals. I thanked him and told him that he didn’t need to lend a hand. He promptly told me that he didn’t accept my thanks and that he required a better way to show my appreciation and it included the kisses that I had promised him earlier in my song when I hijacked his spot. He had chills running up and down my spine thinking about seeing how his tats continued up his sleeve and off to who knew where. It had been a really long while since I had been appreciated by anyone, so I told myself, “what the hell.” We definitely had a connection brewing between us that I was willing to explore so I accepted his offer of going home with him. Leaving my apron behind, I grabbed my fashionable bag of choice, and followed Nate out onto the street.

  Like me, he lived within walking distance to Cafélicious even though I often took a hired car home at night time. We opted to walk hand in hand, talking about our favorite places to eat in the city and what buildings stood out to us—both of us liked the older architectural elements of the US Grant hotel. Funny how our mini tour of the city made us think of our home towns, though neither of us mentioned what it was. I knew my reasons for secrecy, I wondered what his were and if they included a girl… woman back home. Pushing that thought out of my head, I hummed a song about hot times in the city and he joined in, making several blocks pass by quickly. Stopped at the entrance to his loft, I realized that my place was no more than a stone’s throw away. However, that bit of information I decided to keep to myself for the time being. I had a feeling that our time together was going to be nothing more than some good times.

  Inside his loft on the third floor, Nate wasted no time connecting our bodies. His mouth capturing mine, I moaned and opened to his tongue’s exploration. The kiss was even better than the one that I had instigated on the café patio only a few days ago. With roaming hands on both of our parts, the need for clothing to diminish came about quickly. Clothes thrown and tossed to the floor, naked, Nate lifted me and I wrapped my legs around his waist ready to be pushed up against any surface and fucked. More than ready to penetrate me, somehow he had protection already in place as we tumbled onto a bed I never saw coming. Nor did I notice him pushing any buttons or whatever to suddenly be hearing music infiltrating the open space. What shocked me was how sexy the sounds of slapping flesh mixed with energetic classical music was to my ears. The vibrations, the friction of skin, the moans, the groans, the sliding of his huge cock in and out of me with a nice swiveling of his hips—it was like a symphony.

  Clutching the sheets, I moved my pelvis up to meet his every move and then he flipped us over and I became the one in control. Or controlled by the music, in time like a metronome, I rocked from side to side, rising and falling as I rode him. Cymbals were crashing, violin strings were whining, and I was so lost in sensations and rhythms that I hadn’t even been paying attention to who was beneath me. It was as if I was using Nate as nothing more than an apparatus… a huge, very filling apparatus.

  Looking down at his gorgeous face, I slowed my rolls during an adagio tempo, and concentrated on moving just enough to get a reaction from him. He seemed to like it and I was curious to how he could keep going so long; tantric practice or Viagra—I’d heard of young men taking it too. My thoughts quickly faded as once again we moved into another position where I found myself on my knees with my head down on the bed, and him behind me. Not one to usually like that position, I realized that done precisely at a certain angle, his cock hit just the right spot.

  And with the addition of his hand placed between my legs putting a perfect amount of pressure to my clit, all music ceased to exist. I heard nothing when my body began to quiver and shake as my nerve endings danced themselves into a rolling quake of orgasms that seemed to never end. Nate must’ve joined in at some point but I couldn’t tell at what moment but I did feel him leave my body.

  Returning to the bed, he asked me if I would stay the whole night with him—I hadn’t even thought of leaving. His comment had me thinking that maybe he was in the habit of having women leave once the deed was done. Nodding my head, I asked where the bathroom was and he pointed the direction. Staying in front of the mirror, I looked at myself before returning to his side, and started to question what I had done. He was a musician of some sort and that was something I usually avoided at all cost, knowing their ways—or a good majority of them. Even my parents had their tastes of groupies through the years, I wasn’t totally naïve.

  But I loved the connection I felt with Nate and I wasn’t willing to give it up without seeing where it went whether it was a one-night stand, a few days, months, or all summer. Stopping my questioning mind and tossing what I knew of the crazy music world aside, I crawled right back in bed with Nate and let him treat me to an orchestra of feelings between the sheets. His moves in round two were fast and fleeting but it was the final round that was so slow and calculated as if he had written every slip, slide, and rotation note for note. Fluidity with meaning, he actually brought me to tears as he caressed every inch of my body in such a way that literally exhausted me emotionally and physically. Wrapped in his arms in the end, I slipped into a deep sleep.

  Chapter Four…

  It had been a very long time since I had awakened in a bed other than my own, but I wasn’t complaining about the view lying next to me. Nice warm weather allowed me to take a better peek at his lean, muscular body inked with what I’ve always heard called tribal designs. If I had not heard that term, I would call them geometric patterns that fit beautiful side by side on his tanned skin… his sun-kissed skin. I was thankful that I didn’t have to rush off since Pansie always gave me a later shift the day after Open Mic Wednesdays. Especially when the gorgeous man responded to my fingertip skimming lightly over a linear design that moved into a swirling circular shape. Amazing work!

  And amazing hands created their own path along my inkless bod
y. “You’re what I call a blank canvas,” he remarked.

  “An ink virgin.” I laughed and he confessed to owning a tattoo shop back home.

  “Singer, tattoo artist… and I’m guessing songwriter.” His hand stilled and I wondered if I had struck a chord or maybe he was anticipating more inquiries about his background. He was safe. I hadn’t planned on telling him much so I wasn’t about to question him. Of course, I couldn’t say all of that to him, so I dropped the words that had been dancing on the tip of my tongue since I looked more closely at his painted body—what does all of this mean? And then he shocked me with his own assumptions about me.

  “So I’m assuming that you are a struggling singer waiting for her big break waiting tables at a café that has open mic nights… only you don’t usually give yourself a slot? You did steal mine.” He smiled and moved his hard, lean body between my legs. “Doesn’t actually compute… hmmm… The stage fright…”

  Dipping his head to capture my lips, I reached up and ran my fingers along his closely cropped messy hair. “I thought you might’ve been in the military at first glance with your short hair, but the unruly element swayed me.”

  “My father, one year, took all of the boys from the neighborhood into the garage when summer rolled around, he announced, ‘summer cut time.’ We all got the same butch cut thanks to an electric trimmer. We were like sheep lined up to be sheared clean for the hot, muggy summer. The moms on the block after that sent their boys down to our house every year until we became teens and wanted a different look. Not me, I love the tradition, only I don’t get it quite as short as the old days—I like a little personality to it.”