“Hey, that was an accident,” I protest. “Autopilot.”
She smirks. “Right. Muscle memory.”
“Come on, you know it was a mistake.”
“Right, flashing your junk at me was a big mistake.”
“Did you just emphasize the word big?”
Her laugh bursts out, bright and unguarded. “You’re hearing what you want to hear, buddy. But if big helps you sleep at night…”
I can’t help laughing too. She’s funny when she’s relaxed. “Actually, you keep bringing it up. I’m starting to think you want to see it again.”
She nearly chokes on her muffin. I slide her coffee closer, and she grabs it, cheeks pink, gulping fast.
“I brought it up once,” she shoots back.
“I think you emphasized up that time.”
Her eyes widen, then she slaps a hand over her mouth, pretending to gasp. “Oh my God,” she says, eyes twinkling, “I woke you up too early, didn’t I?”
She’s mocking me—my earlier crack about keeping her up too late when she was trying to be funny—and I can’t help it, I grin.
“You’re getting good at this,” I tell her.
“Good at what?” she asks, playing innocent.
“Teasing me.”
She takes another sip of coffee, her smile hidden behind the rim. “Someone’s got to keep you humble, Lumber-Jax.”
But then her smile fades. It’s subtle at first, a tiny shift at the corners of her mouth, but I see it. Like someone just turned down the light behind her eyes. She nudges her plate away, appetite gone, and her gaze flickers up to meet mine, uncertain and uneasy.
“What?” I ask, my tone soft.
She exhales slowly. “It just occurred to me that this… might be a waste of time.”
“Coffee and muffins?” I tease lightly, trying to coax the smile back.
“No.” Her voice is quiet, heavier.
I lean forward, sensing it’s not about breakfast anymore. “What’s going on, Row?”
When she doesn’t answer, I reach across the table and take her hand. Her skin feels cool against mine. “Hey. Tell me.”
She swallows, eyes down. “Even if I did get hot coffee shop guy to notice me… what do I actually know about being with a guy?”
“You said you’ve been with two,” I remind her, trying to keep it casual. “Sure, they didn’t…finish the job right, but that’s on them, not you. I don’t know this guy, but I’m guessing he’s more experienced than some fumbling college kids.”
“I’m not though,” she says, voice small and a little broken. “I’m not more experienced than that same fumbling college girl. I mean, I know how it works, but there’s more to it than just…” She gestures vaguely, her cheeks coloring. “Insert slot A into slot B.”
I can’t help a low chuckle. “Well… yeah.”
She groans. “You said it yourself. I’m serious. Unapproachable.”
“This whole thing,” I say, gesturing between us, “is supposed to show him the opposite. That you are approachable. Touchable. Fun.”
Her shoulders slump, her voice barely above a whisper. “But then what? Say I get him. And he realizes I’m still that awkward, serious girl between the sheets.”