Lean On Me #Wattys2016

Part 1

Mateo

I sip hot coffee at my usual seat in the far back corner of the shop. I've been coming in here for the last two weeks, ever since leaving the hospital to try and recover more independently. I still have to go there everyday for physical therapy, but at least the rest of my day can be spent outside those sterile walls and away from the constant reminder that war is ugly. I scratch at the few days of scruff on my chin and watch as the door to the coffee shop swings open, ringing the bell to notify the staff of a customer.

A young woman enters, her auburn hair pulled back into a ponytail and a smile on her beautiful face. She's listening to music in her own little world, evident by the thin white wires running along her cheeks and down her shirt to where they connect to her phone. I know it's not a phone call because her lips are moving, silently singing along as her hips sway to the beat. My own lips curl and I realize it's been a while since I've genuinely smiled at someone. Her eyes meet mine and she stops singing, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink with embarrassment.

"Don't stop on my account," I say as she stands next to my table at the end of the long line. Being this close to a hospital means a constant flow of customers for the shop. Every doctor and nurse in the area drops in to grab their morning Joe and they're most likely back by 10am for another pick-me-up.

"Sometimes I forget where I am," she laughs softly. I hate to admit it, but I love the sound immediately.

Always the joker I remind her sarcastically, "Busy coffee shop. Long line. Lots of people." I look around as if to show just how many of us there are.

She covers her face with a hand and shakes her head. "Thanks for making this whole experience less awkward." Now it's my turn to chuckle at her sarcasm. I hold up my coffee in salute and she turns back to the line. I try not to stare at her ass, but it's so nicely wrapped in a tight pair of jeans and it's been long time since I've been with anyone. She's tall, probably only a little shorter than my six feet, and has a knock out body. Small waist, but not in the skinny super model way, more like a woman who takes care of her body and enjoys working out.

I can appreciate a body that's well taken care of. Fitness used to be my thing. I started every morning with a jog, lifted weights in the evening and swam laps whenever possible. I run my hand along my thigh, feeling the way the skin dips and the tightness that comes with a heavy dose of scarring. When she turns around again, smiling at me, I relax my hand so I don't draw attention to the achy limb. I've missed this. The way it feels to flirt with a girl and the anticipation of more.

I have my face in a book, but I haven't been reading. I keep looking up to where she waits, watching as she plays with her hair and laughs with the other customers. After getting her drink she makes her way by my table. I notice her slowing down, almost as if she's waiting for me to ask her something. I flip another page in the book and pretend not to notice her nearness. The old Mateo would ask for her number, maybe even skip that step and go straight for a date invitation. But this new Mateo--he's broken. How can I ever expect a woman to want to get naked with me when I can't even stand to look at myself? I've been waiting for the steam to fill the bathroom before I shower and I refuse to wear anything that might put my injury on display.

The pretty stranger moves another step closer and my heart rate picks up. I want her to leave. I don't want to have to be mean or act like an asshole to push her away, but I will if she makes me. Just when I think she's going to say something, the door swings open and a young doctor that I recognize from the hospital steps through. The girl looks up at him and waves, "Good morning Dr. Lowe," she greets and he grins.

"Morning Ashlyn." I feel my jaw tighten at their familiarity. Of course she's into him; he's got everything. He has a career, an unmarred body, and enough confidence that it's obvious even from where I'm sitting. I feel the bile rise in my throat and I hate everything about today already. I check my watch and see that my appointment is in ten minutes and now I'm even more pissed because I know there's no way I'm going to make it if they talk any longer. I refuse to stand up until she's gone. Maybe I'm a coward, but I don't want to taint the picture of her in my mind with the image I'll see when she watches me limp out of here. If I've learned anything from this experience it's that I fucking hate pity.

I'm relieved when she just waves with her fingers and sticks her ear buds back in. She pushes open the door and I watch her through the window look both ways before stepping out to cross the street. When I'm sure she's far enough away, I push myself up on my unsteady leg and wince as I put my weight on it. I'm so fucking tired of being far from the man that I used to be. With a hiss of breath between my teeth and a pinch of my face, I limp slowly out of the shop and head for physical therapy—my only hope at ever getting my life back. 

*****Please remember to vote and share. I love to read your comments. I hope you love this story as much as you've all loved Dear Bailey and Seven Letter Words. If you are wondering who Sanchez is, you can find him in Dear Bailey when Lucas takes Bailey out to breakfast and they meet up with some of the guys from his shop. 

Can't wait to hear what you think.  I think I might have a little fun with this one. The more votes, comments and shares this story gets....the hotter I will make it! It's up to you!