Why did I think coffee was a good idea, again?
Because somehow, some way that I don't understand and likely makes zero fucking sense, I almost feel like I saw something familiar in Derek's eyes. Something I see in my own.
"I'm losing my goddamn mind," I mumble to myself before washing up. I put on a pair of jeans and a black tee before stuffing my work clothes into a duffle bag. After brushing my teeth, I call it a fucking day.
Shoes, socks, work stuff, cell, and I'm out the door before I come to my senses and call this shit off.
It doesn't take me long to get to the coffeehouse Derek chose. When I step inside, I see Derek standing at the counter with his back to me. It looks like he has his arms crossed in front of him. He's a good few inches shorter than me-small-boned where I'm definitely not. He looks young, a whole lot younger than me, even though I know the age difference isn't quite what it would seem.
He's wearing a pair of tight jeans that sculpt his firm little ass, and a tee that's bunched up on one hip so I can see a hint of pink.
Jesus, he's fucking bad. There's no doubt he's trying to tempt me, and even though it shouldn't, it makes a small smile tug at my lips, and just like that, all my trepidation starts to melt away.
I step up beside him, cross my arms and say, "You're testing my patience."
"What? Me?" He feigns innocence. "What did I do? Don't blame me because you want my ass."
I look down at him, and he licks his lips. Little fucker. I've never known anyone like him before. He's so out of my wheelhouse I almost don't know how to respond to him sometimes, which I don't like. "What do you want?" I ask.
"Anything. Like I said before, I can blow you. I'd rather take your cock but-"
"Not that. Jesus, what am I going to do with you?" I rub my fingers over my beard, feeling a little flustered.
"Didn't I just answer that question?"
I roll my eyes and take a deep breath, knowing it's going to take everything in me not to bend him over and have a go at him. "You like that sweet shit, right? Caramel latte it is."
"Hey! I didn't say I wanted a caramel latte."
"No, you said you wanted to blow me. I don't think they sell that here." Just as I finish speaking, the person ahead of us steps away from the counter. "Medium coffee black and a caramel latte."
"I can order for myself." Derek looks at me, then the barista, and says, "A vanilla latte," before looking at me again, obviously proud of himself.
Damned if I don't chuckle.
"I'm paying," he adds.
"I don't need you to pay for me."
"So? I don't need you to pay for me either. What makes you think I do?" I open my mouth to argue with him but before I can, he says, "I owe you." The look in his blue eyes turns serious, unlike the playful light that danced in them a moment ago. I nod, still not liking the fact that he believes he owes me for doing the right thing, but at least it's not a BJ in the bathroom.
He pays and a moment later we get our drinks before finding the quietest corner we can to sit down. It's slightly awkward for me being here with him-being here with anyone. I spent my whole dating life with Steph. Most of our friends were couples around the same age as us or Zane's friends' parents. I didn't have coffee with twenty-six-year-old guys I wanted to fuck.
"I still think sex would have been more fun," Derek says before taking a drink of his coffee. I look at him across the small wooden table and try to piece together the two sides I've seen of him. Try to see the man from the assisted living facility in the man in front of me. The man who was obviously there caring for someone he loved, with the one who stumbled into my Jeep, not caring for himself.
"Who are you?" I find myself asking.
He frowns, his lips slightly pouty. "Um … Derek? We met when I accidentally got into your car a few weeks ago and then you took me home with you. Any of that ringing a bell? You're not that old."
"That's your name. That doesn't tell me who you are."
"Why do you want to know who I am?"
"I don't know. I haven't figured it out yet." I haven't figured out why I'm here or what I hope to accomplish by coming. None of it.
The corners of his eyes wrinkle slightly as though he didn't expect my answer. Hell, I don't think he expected my question either. I have a feeling Derek doesn't let many people know him. We have that in common.
"Ugh. I don't know what you're looking for. If you have a question, just ask."
He takes another drink of his coffee, and I ask the first thing that comes to mind, "Have you lived in Atlanta all your life?" when I really want to know is, Who is the man you were visiting?