Too Close for Comfort

Summer: Day 39

Summer: Day 39

Mack's POV:

As Deacon closes up, I finish cleaning the messes from the day behind the counter. Royce has been off of work the last week because he's calling in sick, and Deacon has been more understanding than I have—it's not my fault I don't wanna work the shop alone with Deacon. Then again, I know Deacon doesn't mind; in fact, he probably prefers it.

I dreaded coming to work today knowing that I agreed to have coffee with my boss of all people. It wasn't a date, it was a coffee hangout. That's what I've been trying to make clear to him all day. For one, I had a hot-as-hell boyfriend I had to work through things with eventually, and secondly, I'd never aim for someone that screams 'manwhore' like Deacon does. Sure, Zachariah had his moments, but I love him.

I love him.

I do, that's right. But just because I love him doesn't mean he loves me.

That's the bitter truth people should start getting used to nowadays—all this unrequited love shit.

Deacon's usual black button down fits tightly around his tall and solid frame, his muscles flexing as he moves around the coffee shop to tidy it up. His dark hair fell in his face and, every so often, he'd push it up. The gray eyes that were by turns judgmental, funny, or tantalizing were focused and dialed in on whatever task he was doing, and the white array of his teeth shone through as his lips parted when he reached across the different tables.

As much as I hate to admit it, he was a good looking guy. The only thing was, I fancied no one other than Zachariah. And so, nobody even compared to him in my eyes.

What's that quote: you snooze, you lose. Zachariah Montgomery had completely ruined the rest of the male population for me.

"Alright, what do you want to drink?" Deacon says, lifting his head from wiping the last table down, a smile playing on his lips. "Or do you want your usual?"

I knit my eyebrows together and shrug. "Surprise me."

He nods with a small smirk and walks over to the bar area. "Never say, 'surprise me,' unless you actually wanna be surprised."

"That sounds oddly suspicious," I laugh, leaning against the counter.

"Oh honey, this is nowhere near suspicious," he says with a deep voice. "Just the usual suggestive comments I give you, that's all."

I roll my eyes and grab the towel off the counter, throwing it at him. It lands on top of his head, draping over it like a vail. "You would make a lovely bride," I joke, snorting a little. "Very feminine."

He spins around and closes his eyes in slight frustration before opening them, a smirk finding its way to his face. "So now you wanna get married, per say?"

"Perhaps you were mistaken, I said you'd make a good bride not a good broom."

He raises an eyebrow in question.

"I guess a mophead would work too," I continue, causing his smirk to fall and his mouth to drop open.

"Hey, take that back," he says, a frown on his face. "I'm way better looking than a mop."

Shaking my head, I say, "I think I've found your new name, mophead."

He glares at me. "Anything better you can call me?"

"Daddy," I deadpan in an unamused tone. "Yeah, for sure. I'd absolutely fucking love to call you daddy. Especially in bed, but I don't know, are you kinky?" Sarcasm really shines through as I think about all the fantasies womanizers like this man must have.