I can see him, and I don't know what to think about all the different emotions that I am feeling.
His black hair is unruly, and I can't help but wonder what it would feel like to comb my fingers through it.
Is it soft and gentle, or is it rough? It looks so soft and perfect. As if it was made for my fingers to go through it.
What am I thinking? I don't fancy guys! I have always liked girls, haven't I?
I keep wondering while he is preparing my order. He doesn't seem to notice that I come here every day to see him, just to look at those beautiful brown eyes of his.
I can't get over the fact that he is perfect. His face is perfectly symmetrical, and he always has a short stubble on his face that I usually dislike. However, on him, it looks so darn sexy.
It's high time I stop this.
I am not here for him. I am here for the coffee.
Yes, yes, that's right. This coffee shop has the best coffee in the neighborhood.
As he turns around to give me my order, I forget all my weak attempts to convince myself that I am not here for him.
When I look into his eyes, I can't lie to myself, and I get lost for a second longer than appropriate in the depths of his eyes. I can see that eye contact is not his favorite thing as he squirms under my gaze, but he doesn't break eye contact.
In the past few weeks that I spent coming to this place, I have noticed that he never makes eye contact with anyone. He always looks just behind them or close enough to their eyes but never in their eyes.
It makes me feel so special. Like I might have a chance.
What kind of a chance am I talking about?
Come on, Chris, snap out of it!
Chris...that is my name. Why does it sound strange now?
Then I hear a deep masculine voice.
"Chris! Chris, your order is ready," I snap out of my strange thoughts and stretch my hand out to take the order.
As I am taking the coffee cup, I can feel our fingers brush against each other, and for a moment, we both seem frozen by the touch.
His light brown skin makes an interesting contrast with my snow-white one, and I can't help the yearning inside me, the need to hold that strong hand of his, to kiss those full lips, to just enjoy his presence.
Those thoughts hit me so suddenly that I quickly take the order, mumble a thank you storming out of the coffee shop while blushing profusely.
I can't help but hope that he didn't see my embarrassment, that he couldn't sense my thoughts.
It would be so embarrassing if he did. He would probably find me disgusting.
I couldn't sleep that night, but in the morning, I find myself in front of the coffee shop again, although I told myself I would never go back there.
My embarrassment is not stronger than my desire to see him again, so I decided to go in and act normal.
Although I have no idea what is happening, what I am doing, or what that means, I know he makes me feel good.
He makes me feel happier than I have felt in a long time, and I just want to keep that feeling.
As I open the door and the bell jingles, he turns swiftly, and when he sees me, a huge smile spreads across his face.
His smile is so genuine and beautiful that I can't help but smile back, suddenly blushing.
How I hate blushing! But I can't help it.
My skin is so white that when I blush, everyone knows about it. All I can do is hope that he will think that I am red from the cold outside. That it wouldn't occur to him that I am blushing like a schoolgirl on a first date.
Why would I think that? Uh, I am driving myself crazy!
I'll just go there and act as I usually do.
I try to do that, but I fail miserably.
When I reach the counter Mark, my beautiful obsession, asks: "The usual?"
Instead of giving the usual answer, I start stuttering.
"Yee-es-ss, plee-esee-e," I say.
Smooth Chris, really smooth.
Mark is kind enough to pretend he doesn't see me stumbling over the words, and he goes to prepare my usual order.
While he does that, I try to breathe deeply and calm down my racing pulse.
I have no idea how long I am doing that, but suddenly Mark is facing me with my coffee in his hand.
He is holding out the coffee to me, and as I reach for the cup and wrap my hand around it, I can feel that Mark didn't let go of it.
Instead, he puts his soft hand over mine, and while looking me in the eyes, he whispers so that only I can hear him.
"Call me if you feel like it," he says.
I blush tomato red, and he lets go of my hand, noticing my embarrassment.
I hurry off but not before I hear the soft chuckling behind me.
Usually, I would've gotten angry if someone did that but not Mark. He is special.
Still, I was confused. What did Mark mean to call him?
Then I look at the coffee cup, and instead of my name, I see a telephone number written there.
Let's just say I wasn't doing so well at work that day, but luckily for me, no one seemed to notice that my mind was somewhere else.
Should I call him?
That was the question that I kept asking myself. What if Mark just wants to hang out?
I have a feeling that I want more.
Oh, my, what DO I want?
When I get home from work, it is even more difficult not to contact him.
I really want to talk to him, to get to know him, to kiss him...
Wow, here I go again.
What is wrong with me?
Well, maybe I can just text him.
Yeah, friends text each other, don't they?
And everyone needs friends, yes, new friends are cool.
What should I say?
Oh, my God, I feel like a chick! I should just text him, and that's it.
So with shaking hands, I type in: "Hey, it's Chris. You wrote your number on my coffee cup. What's up?"
The moment I send it, I realized that I sounded like an idiot, and I wish there was a way for you to delete your text or for the earth to open up and swallow me before Mark sees the text.
Berating myself for my stupidity, I am so distracted that a ping from my phone makes me jump up.
As I slowly lift up my phone, I feel as if my heart is in my throat.
What if he wrote that he doesn't want to talk to me because of my idiotic text?
Fortunately for my overactive heart, he doesn't say anything like that.
"Hi, there. I didn't think you'd text me. I am glad you did. Although I did think I scared you off when I didn't hear from you all day.
"My shift just ended, so I just came home. What are you up to?" His message says.
I am sweating so much and shaking more than I ever had in my whole life. It's annoying. I am a guy, and I can't help but feel that my reactions were distinctly girly.
Yet, I didn't seem to mind that as long as I got the chance to chat with him.
"Nah, you didn't scare me off, just a busy day at work. I am just relaxing after a hard day at work," I write.
After I send that message, I get angry with myself.
What kind of a lame message is that?
You should ask him something! That's how conversations work.
As I am trying to think of something to ask, my mind goes completely blank.
There are no questions I can think of, and another ping saves me from my dark thoughts.
"Do you want to hang out?" He asks.
"Yes," I answer.
That is when Nick woke up utterly confused.
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