Dirty Chai: A Romance Novel |
November 15, 2011 |
Me and my dirty, dirty, dirty chai reclined in a ditch of public, late night, laptop adventures. I thought my chai was dirty, no the dirtiest thing in the coffee shop other than the doorknobs was the faux, red velvet chair. Crusty bits of sugar and spilt coffee cradled my languid arms. Regardless, the lighting was sexy. Somehow during the middle of the day, when the sun beamed its brightest, this coffee shop controlled every bit of illumination to create that perfect café aura.
And it only got better.
At approximately two o’clock, a man strolled into the shop. Strong jaw-line reflecting a clean-shaven glow, intense gaze, broad shoulders, a perfect mop of hair that could be so easily tussled under delicate fingertips. His crisp slacks tailored to highlight his legs, belt enclosed around a slim waist. My imagination created a tight set of abs under his iridescent white button-down shirt.
Inhale, lungs taking in cologne carried by the breeze of the autumn day straight into my greedy nostrils. Clean-cut waltz over to the counter, determination, maybe a touch of anger fueling his every move. And what confidence.
Serpentine like emotions straightened my spine, changing my persona from the observer to the seductress. A certain level of breathing would keep my breasts at their maximum potential in their glorious little push-up bra. Maybe I would toss in some hooded eye action to make me seem all that more alluring.
I didn’t really know why I wanted to start this little game of “give me whatever the fuck I want or else someone is going to have to die” at this coffee shop better fit for relaxation. My dirty chai converted my mind to the gutter like a drunken bar night expedition for sex, drugs and lies.
But as they say, let the games begin, though I knew this wouldn’t be much of anything. Clean-cut wasn’t the kind of man you wanted to take you home and throw you on the bed with ravishing aftereffects. You would want to talk to him, maybe let him take you out to dinner, and figure out why he looked so tense. I craved to peel back every layer of cold exterior until finding the one thing that made him exist, and then engage in passionate love making until the early hours of the morning.
But he was just ordering his beverage, which my ears were not keen enough to intercept. He paid and then retreated to the little counter for finished drinks, where he proceeded to meet my hungry gaze.
If my cup had been to my lips, it probably would have spilled all over my shirt, creating another stain on the dirty little chair. But I couldn’t just sit there and dwell on how his one gaze had knocked me off of my axis. No, this was a game, so I smiled right back, and then looked away.
Cat and mouse for ten minutes, even though he had his coffee, he perched on a stool in my direct line of sight. It was brilliant really. Like my prowling nature better suited a bar, our little eye flirting movements was reminiscent of high school or even middle school, the dainty nervous, or not so nervous glances. The glances were filled to the brim with lust and tinges of desperations. Pupils dilated with each new image filling our brains.
But I had work to do, I couldn’t play five year old for the entire day. So I gathered my purse and walked out of the café. Part of me, just a little irritated.
However, as I turned around to the sound of the café bell, tall clean-cut approached. I knew it was going to be so good.
But then, he opened his mouth.
“Nice tits, wanna fuck?”
Roses and thorns.