yet. That kid had a lot going for him, sure, but I can't say I was ever any good at standing back and letting Posy be the expert, even if it was her family's restaurant.
She'd never even held down a job before that summer, which bugged me to no end. Whereas I'd been working my way up the ranks at Paxton’s since I turned sixteen. I started as a dishwasher and mop guy. I brought the garbage into the alley, no matter how smelly and gross. I scraped the food off the plates and made them sparkle again.
It literally took me years to work my way up to the best-paid job in the room: bartender. And then Posy walked in one day like the Park Avenue princess that she was, and was handed an equivalent job to mine. And sure—she was a fast learner. But she was also full of ideas and opinions, some of them brilliant, many of them naïve. It drove me bonkers.
To be fair, part of what drove me bonkers was her trim body and perky breasts. Not only did I have to work with the boss's opinionated daughter, I had to navigate her fresh, flowery scent and her delicious cleavage.
I spent that entire summer vacillating between fascination, annoyance, and lust, sometimes experiencing all three at the same time. It's not a comfortable way to live.
“Naturally, we grind as we go, for the freshest experience," Posy says now.
“Grind as we go.” I repeat. “Got it.” And then I give her a wink. An actual wink, like a sleazy asshole. The same thing happened when I was twenty-one, damn it. I turned into a slightly louder, more obnoxious version of myself whenever she walked into the room.
She flips the largest switch. As the machine roars to life, I start to count. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi. Then she flips it off again.
Three seconds. Fine. A monkey could learn this.
Next, Posy grabs the handle of one of those espresso thingies and holds the basket part under the chute. She uses her thumb to swish a lever back and forth three times, as a tidy pile of coffee grounds fills the little cup, making a rounded shape. Like a breast.
Three seconds on the grinder. Three swishes of the lever. Make a coffee titty. Got it.
She grabs a round little tool and uses it to press the grinds down flat. “Lola is a little fussy about the fill,” she tells me. “Too little and the water runs through too fast. Too much, and she squirts out the sides. The trick is to fill her up nice and tight, right up to the lip.”
I try to hold it back, but it’s no use. A laugh escapes from my chest.
“What?” she demands.
“Never mind,” I say quickly.
“Seriously?” Posy's eyes narrow. “You’re thirty-five years old, and you still hear sexual innuendo everywhere?”
“Thirty-six. And it’s just the way I’m made. Carry on.”
Teagan—the girl who’s supposed to be leaving—snickers.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Posy demands of her.
“Yeah. But it’s more fun watching him learn to make espresso drinks.” She gives me a wink. “Maybe we’ll work together next week.”
“Hope so,” I say cheerfully. Because that will mean that Posy hasn’t fired me yet.
Although I think she’d like to. Her eyes turn to slits as Teagan and I engage in some low-key flirting before the woman finally heads out the door.
“Can you pay attention to what we’re doing, Loverboy?” Posy asks, and the question is full of vinegar.
“I was already paying attention,” I promise. “I haven’t missed a thing. Let’s see you put it into—” I gesture vaguely toward the machine. “—The thinger dinger.”
“The thinger dinger?” She gives me a sideways glance.
“At Joe’s Cafe we always joked around,” I say smoothly.
Posy sighs. Then she glides toward the espresso machine, lifting one smooth arm to fit the filter arm into one of the espresso machine’s ports.
The assignment is a cupcake, Duff had told me. I’m starting to see why. The Italian coffee machine is beautiful, and so is the woman using it. It’s her confidence that always used to turn me on. I like the way she manhandles the part into place.
Is barista porn a thing? I'll have to check it out tonight on pornhub. I could learn a few tricks and get off at the same time.
Two birds, one stone.
Posy flips the switch, and the machine hums as espresso begins to fill the cup. “Our standard pour for a latte or a cappuccino is two ounces.