As I study the list of ingredients on one bar, I eavesdrop on Beck’s conversation with the barista—well, on the tone of it since I can’t actually understand a word they’re saying. She obviously didn’t spot him hovering behind me or realize who he is because she’s a shocked, fumbling mess now. He has to repeat his order three times, during which she drops five cups. I think she’s going to faint when he hands her his credit card and their fingers brush. And yes, I’m the creeper studying their interaction that closely. It takes even longer for Beck to order than it took me to explain the foreign concept of cold coffee when it’s eighty degrees outside. I’m guessing there would probably be more disgruntled customers if it wasn’t the Adler Beck holding up the line.

He finally moves to the side. To my side. He’s standing much closer than you’d ordinarily stand next to a fellow patron, even in a coffee shop this size. He’s close enough for the distracting scent of his body wash, cologne, or maybe just his laundry detergent to wash over me. Roasting coffee beans and freshly baked pastries are replaced by a fresh, tangy smell that transports me to the woods in a rainstorm. Wow, I really need caffeine. Or to distract my brain from the aggressively arousing aroma.

“Don’t you have an assistant who fetches your coffee?” I ask Beck testily.

“I have an assistant, yes. But it seemed silly to call her to the coffee shop I was walking by on my way to the stadium so she could order for me.”

I’m about to comment on how some customers in this coffee shop—especially me—would have appreciated it when I’m hit with a disturbing realization. “You’re on your way to the stadium?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Why do you think? I’m supposed to be there in…” I glance at the clock hanging behind the counter. “Crap. Fifteen minutes.”

“It’s not that far of a walk,” Beck drawls.

“I know, but I hate being late to practice. Plus, you’re the reason I’m behind schedule.”

All that accusation earns me is an amused smirk.

“Here’s your ice and latte,” the barista tells me, not taking her eyes off Beck as she sets both in front of me.

“Thank you,” I tell her, hastily pouring the hot liquid over the ice. I don’t really account for basic scientific principles as I do. The ice crackles and hisses as the steaming coffee hits the stack of cubes before they promptly dissolve, sending the now lukewarm coffee over the rim of the plastic cup. “Shit.”