Hans emerged from the café’s side door, carrying a tray. He placed two mugs on the table, then sat next to me.
I glanced at his shirt once more, and he noticed. “Do you like it? I got it from the House of Riegillio, a store around thecorner.” He grinned. “Everyone says it could have been made for me.”
I couldn’t help myself. “And does that mean you are…?” I couldn’t get the word out.
Hans’s eyes sparkled. “Fistable? Oh God, yes. Definitely one of my favourite things,” he said in a sing-song voice.
The juxtaposition of fisting and Julie Andrews was… disturbing.
Hans dumped sweetener into his coffee. “So how bad is your German?”
I pulled a face. “Bad. I haven’t spoken it for twenty-six years.”
He winced. “Ouch.” He let out a sigh. “Okay, then we’ll start slowly.” He looked me up and down, and smiled. “Karl didn’t mention I’d have such a hot student.”
I almost choked on my coffee. “Excuse me?”
Hans rolled his eyes. “Come on now. You must know what a sexy guy you are.”
I gaped at him. “I’m old enough to be your father.”
He grinned. “Even better. I’m into older men.”
My eyes had to be like saucers. “Does Karl know this?” It crossed my mind for a second that I’d been set up. Karl had been the one to mention exploration, after all.
Hans laughed. “Sure he does.” Then he shrugged. “But I was never one of his students, so it felt okay to make a pass at him.”
I blinked. “But… he’s straight.”
He merely arched his eyebrows at that, and one word from my conversation with Karl the previous day came back to flit through my head and settle there.
Experience.
I don’t know him at all, do I?
I took refuge in my coffee, watching the steady stream of men going to and fro, more and more of them in leather. A bunch of guys headed for the door to the café, and one of them caughtmy eye. There was something familiar about the way he held himself, the way he moved.
Then it clicked.
Stefan.
My breathing hitched. I turned my head to watch him through the window as he joined the queue, facing the counter, one hand resting casually on the glass covering the cakes and rolls. He was talking to one of the men he’d arrived with. No suit this time, just black jeans and a black sweatshirt.
For a moment, the noise from the café seemed to recede.
“You know him.”
I blinked, dragged back into the moment. Hans was watching me with open amusement.
I drew in a breath. “We met yesterday at the airport. He… helped me.”
Hans’s smile sharpened. “And you like him.”
I swallowed. “He seemed like a nice guy,” I said in a nonchalant voice.
Hans’s lips twitched. “No, I mean youlikehim.”
I opened my mouth to respond, but Hans was already on his feet.