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She's into guys. I want to drop to my knees and give thanks.

"Alpha males, huh?" Now I'm the one smiling. I can serve that up for her on a silver platter. "A girl that's into sports. I think I've died and gone to Heaven."

"It's not that unusual."

"For me it is." I don't want to admit it's unusual because I never really give a shit what the girls I'm with are into, just as long as they're into me and we have the same end game in mind.

"If you ever go to games, or even just watch, there are probably as many women there as men."

"When I go to a game, I go with my buddies, and we go for the game, not the girls."

A haughty sound leaves her mouth, and I can tell she doesn't believe me. Sharp as a whip this one.

"Since you seem to be holding the little details about yourself hostage, I'll go first. The name's Cooper."

She leans forward in her seat, forearms on the table, eyes locked on mine. I can't help myself. Like a lap dog, I mirror her movement.

"Here's the deal, Cooper. I don't have time for bullshit. I have a crazy schedule and the last thing I need is to fall for some good-for-nothing-pretty-boy, whose only goal is to fuck with me."

"You think you could fall for me?" I wink as I flash a smile her way.

"That's what you heard?"

"Hell yeah. You wouldn't have mentioned it if you weren't attracted to me. And I have to tell you that makes me happy. Shit, no. It fucking thrills me because, baby, I'm more than just attracted to you. I'm enchanted. Be-fucking-witched. Truth is I saw your face for the first time less than five minutes ago and I can't pull my eyes away from you. I'd even go as far as saying I'm borderline obsessed."

"And you know this after less than five minutes?"

I nod. "The truth is, if I leave here without your number, I don't think I'll be able to live with myself. Hell I don't think I'll be able to live, because my life will be meaningless and empty without you in it."

I can't help myself, I use a cheesy line. Although I rarely need to pull them out, I know girls fall for bullshit like this all the time.

"How about you give me your number instead?"

"Huh?" As if on cue, my phone vibrates in my pocket reminding me, as if I needed a reminder, that my number is off limits. "I can't."

"That's what I thought," she says getting to her feet.

"No, no, no." I reach a hand out to stop her. "Don't leave."

Her phone chimes, indicating that my five minutes are up. I need more time with her.

"I don't have time or interest in married men, or guys in committed relationships. My self-respect is worth more to me than the momentarily thrill of being your dirty little secret."

"No. You've got it wrong. I'm not either of those things. I just . . . I need to change my number . . . Let's just say it's a bad breakup. She thinks things were much more serious than they were and she isn't taking it well."

"So it's her fault?" She asks and I don't detect an ounce of sarcasm in her voice.

Relieved she's getting it, I let out a long breath and let my guard down a bit before I answer. "Yeah. She's a crazy bitch."

She smirks and shakes her head. There it is. She doesn't have to say it, strike three looking. Right down the middle of the fucking plate.

I watch the door close behind her. Damn It. How? When did that go wrong? It's not like I've never been rejected before, but not by anyone I tried so hard to impress. No matter what I said or did, it didn't work, and I don't understand why.

I'm moving, but it's like I have no control over my body. My feet carry me over to the counter.

"Hey, buddy," I call to the guy that helped the blonde. "Tell me everything you know about her," I say pulling a fifty out of my wallet.

The kid's stare falls to the money before meeting my eyes again. He gives a slight shake of his head. I can see although uncomfortable, he's considering it. I need to up the ante without showing him how desperate for the information I really am. I pull the fifty back and place a hundred dollar bill on the counter between us. With my hand still on it, I try to ease his conscious so he'll help me.

"I don't want to hurt her. I just want to see her again. And while she might not realize it yet, she wants to see me, too. So how about I ask a few questions. Nothing too hard or personal. You just give me the answers. That's all. You don't have to volunteer anything more."

His eyes are glued to the cash. His minimum wage ass probably doesn't see this much working two weeks in this place. Hesitantly he nods. Score one point for me.

"How long have you been working here?"

He shrugs. "I don't know, like three months."

"How many days a week do you work?"

"Four," he says, his eyes shifting around the shop.

"See, easy." I smile and hope he's relaxing a little. "This isn't her first time here is it?"

"No."

"Do you know her name?"

He shakes his head, but I can tell the way his eyes shift he's lying.

"Is she a regular? I mean does she come in every day? Every night? Every Saturday?"

He shrugs. "She comes when she comes." Great, I'm dealing with a fucking brainiac. This is his way of reneging on the deal. That's fine, I won't give him one red cent. I let out a long, exaggerated breath hoping he picks up on my frustration. "What I mean is, there's no pattern from what I can see. But I'm not here all the time."

"Look, I can tell you're nervous, and I like the fact that you don't want to divulge too much about her, but I'm not looking to hurt her. I just want to talk to her again."

"Sorry, that's all I know."

With a dark stare, I pass the money to him, "This conversation never happened. Got it?"

He nods before I turn to leave.

"Wait," he calls after me. I stop and look back at him.

"You just want to talk?"

I nod. "That's all."

He groans before continuing. "When she does come, at least when I've seen her here, it's on the weekends. Not both days, but she's usually here at least one of them. And usually around the same time."

"Great."

It's not much, but it's something to go on. At least I know if I want to give myself a challenge this is the place for it.

*

Two weeks pass before she walks back into the coffee shop. I've spoken to Teddy, the kid I paid off, a few times in between. He claims he hasn't seen her. I believe him, because every time he sees me the color drains from his face and I swear he looks like he's going to shit his pants.

Sitting at a table in the corner, drinking my coffee, I look up when the door to the shop opens. A funny feeling fills my chest as I recognize her. Something strange happens to my pulse rate. It's lust, I tell myself as I soak her in. Just a healthy dose of I-want-to-fuck-her-ness.

Her face is red and sweaty, I notice a wet patch on her shirt starting at her neck line, dipping down into the valley between her tits. Her hair is pulled up into a ponytail, and I'm guessing she just finished a work out. She looks even sexier than the first time I saw her. I swear the words "fuck me hard," are oozing out of her pores and shooting straight to my dick.

She doesn't notice me. That's cool. I actually prefer it this way. It means I have the element of surprise on my side. Good thing Teddy's here. He looks in my direction as soon as he spots her. I motion for him to add her order to my tab. That's the way this shit's been working. I've been running a damn coffee tab when I'm here waiting to see if she'll grace us with her presence. Fucking pathetic. When did I become such a pussy? The day she shot my sorry ass down.