Only For You(9)

By: Genna Rulon

“Are you having a seizure? I don’t see a medic alert bracelet,” he whispered. His tone was staid, but I also detected a hint of amusement. No, that couldn’t be. Any humor I heard must be at my expense, he was mocking my clumsiness. What a jerk!

I immediately lost the mirth that possessed me moments ago. Satisfied the desk was sufficiently dried, I rose with my belongings in hand and fled for the door projecting serenity, but internally it was an emergency evacuation mission. As I exited, I detected his presence tailing behind me.

“Would you like to tell me what brought on your epileptic fit?” he inquired smugly.

It was the perfect set-up—a gift given to me to redeem all that had gone awry today. I spun around to face him, forcing him to stop abruptly.

It was cruel. How could he be even more enticing than before? His hair was damp from a recent shower, though he still had not shaved. He wore a thin knit sweater that emphasized his expansive shoulders, defined pectorals and developed biceps. His jeans showcased the powerful thighs beneath, temptingly. I wished for the superpower to freeze time, allowing me to behold his derriere, confident it would be awe-inspiring. A black leather racing jacket dangled from his right hand where I spotted a wide hammered silver band on his middle finger. Why was that stupid ring obscenely sexy?

Regaining my composure—despite his penetrating crystalline eyes—I asked the question that would not be refused.

“Have you ever met Sara Bareilles?”

He shook his head, puzzled. “Who? I don’t think so.”

“Are you certain? I would have bet every dime in my savings account you knew her.” Granted, my savings account was pathetic, but it was all I had.

“I’m positive.” He was thoroughly perplexed, mentally reviewing the entire catalogue of women he had ever met. He shook his head again assured there was no Sara Bareilles in his memory bank.

“Why did you think I knew her?”

“Perhaps I was mistaken,” I replied sweetly, feigning innocence. “Sara wrote the most remarkable song, and after meeting you, I was positive you were her muse. The description was so precise, it seemed logical that you knew her personally.”

He eyed me skeptically, “What‘s the name of the song?”

“Nevermind. If you don’t know her, it’s not relevant.”

I abruptly turned on my heel and headed for the exit. I was feeling sassy after the exchange, triggering an extra sway in my hips as I sauntered away.

Following my second and last, class of the day, I was in need of a restorative cup of coffee. I debated my options, deciding on Cup O’Joe, the small University owned coffee shop, which offered the best on-campus coffee. I entered to the voice of Meg, my favorite barista, greeting me.

“Hey Ev. Want your usual?”

“It has been a rollercoaster of a day. Dark Brazilian Santos is necessary for recalibration,” I replied after careful consideration.

“What size?” Meg inquired.

I stared silently until she made eye contact and chuckled. “Right, Ph.D. it is.”

“Unless there is a larger size available now? The B.A. and M.A. only serve as an appetizer for me,” I replied sharing her delight in my well-known addiction. When speaking of coffee, amongst other things, bigger is always better.

“I tried to persuade them to sell gallon size jugs for you. I even suggested we keep the plastic milk containers in lieu of a cup. Management thought I was kidding,” Meg shrugged, “Black?”

“You know it. I don’t see the point in selecting the perfect bean just to dilute its luscious body and flavor with milk and sugar. It’s sinful, I tell you.”

Meg smirked at my usual rhetoric. When she directed a pointed look to the new barista beside her, I realized I had been baited. My reply must have been the evidence necessary to verify stories she shared about my epic love affair with coffee. Oh well, if I had to be remembered for something at least I wasn’t reputed for kicking puppies or stealing candy from babies. I grabbed my twenty-four ounce Ph.D. and headed next door to the buffet.

With a grilled chicken sandwich and soup in hand, I searched the tables and found Sam by the windows.

“I knew I would find you here,” I declared proudly as if I had just mastered nuclear fusion.