Just Another Silly Love Song - Rich Amooi Page 0,5
you finished with your list of minor inconveniences that aren’t even close to horrible?”
The driver in the car honked behind me.
“Go around!” we said at the same time, both of us caught off guard by the coincidence.
He grinned.
I ignored his perfect teeth. “Fine—someone I’ve known since high school just died.”
I wasn’t going to play the death card, but desperate measures were needed.
Something flickered in his eyes.
His smile disappeared.
Was he really considering it?
Maybe he wasn’t as heartless and arrogant as I initially assumed.
Please, please, please.
“I’m so sorry to hear that.” His eyes lost their spark of competition. The arrogance was replaced by sympathy. “You can have the spot.”
I blinked. “Really?”
“Of course. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“But you didn’t even tell me what happened to make your day so horrible.” Something about his compassion made me feel guilty since technically I hadn’t talked to the woman who had died since . . . well, since forever.
He shook his head. “It’s not necessary.”
I stared at him. “Yes—it is. Please tell me.”
He hesitated. “Fine, but it’s not going to really change things. I found out this morning that I may lose my job tomorrow if I don’t go along with a completely ridiculous decision from my boss. And if that happens, I will most likely have to move away from the place where I have lived my entire life. My favorite city. Honestly, as horrible and shocking as that would be for me, that doesn’t compare to losing a loved one. Life is precious. Take care.” He put his car in reverse to back out of my way.
More guilt filled my senses.
It was true that someone I had known since high school just died. It was a shocking and unexpected death, which sort of rattled me. She was way too young to die. Even though I hadn’t talked to her since high school, it didn’t mean I didn’t care about her. I also didn’t want to take the parking spot because he assumed we were close, which we weren’t.
I held up my hand. “Wait!”
He braked and glanced over to me. “Yeah?”
“I can’t take the parking spot.”
“Why not?”
“Because you don’t know the whole story.”
“I told you—it doesn’t matter.”
“Yes. It does. Because I haven’t talked to her in years.”
“Hey—time flies and I’ll be the first to admit that I have a couple of friends that I haven’t talked to in almost a year.”
“We’re not talking a year here.”
“Even two to three years is not that uncommon.”
I just stared at him.
He studied me and then cocked his head to the side. “Five years? Ten?”
I hesitated and winced. “Twenty-five.”
He glared daggers at me. “Seriously?”
“I’ll just . . . uh . . . back out now. Take the spot. It’s yours.” I raised my window, stuck my car in reverse, and avoided eye contact as I drove away. I looked for another parking spot, which happened to be the farthest possible spot from the front door. Getting out of the car, I speed-walked toward Peet’s Coffee and entered, coming to a screeching halt.
There were at least ten people in front of me in line.
Maybe twelve.
I would surely be late if I stood in that line and waited.
“Just wonderful . . .” I glanced at my watch and then leaned to the side to view the people in the line, wondering where Mr. BMW was.
Should I pretend I was with him, so I could skip the line and order faster? The answer to that question didn’t matter since he wasn’t even in line. He must have already ordered.
Sure enough, there he was, standing by the drink pickup window.
“Ben!” the barista called out.
The man thanked the barista, grabbed the two coffees from the counter, and walked toward me on his way out.
I tried to ignore his approximately six-feet-tall frame, solid build, and cognac-brown eyes. He radiated confidence in the way he moved in his designer jeans and black polo shirt.
Heck, even his smile was designer.
I needed to stop gawking and not forget that I would have been leaving at that moment if the man hadn’t stolen my parking spot.
He stopped and smiled. “I know what you’re thinking.”
“You said men weren’t mind-readers.”
He chuckled. “Sometimes we get lucky.” He handed me one of the cups in his hands. “You have yourself a nice evening.” He smiled and walked toward the door.
I swung around. “What’s this?”
“Your mocha.” He winked and walked out.
I stood there, dumbfounded, watching Ben get into his car and drive away.
Why did men appear more attractive when they were being nice?