Cupid's Contract

M&M Dimples

It was barely even 11am and Eve was already driven to the brink of caffeine-withdrawal insanity. Coupled with the presence of a newly promoted Polly and it was only a matter of time before Eve was being charged for voluntary manslaughter and pleading insanity.

"You see, your Honour, I didn't want to kill Polly. I had to. The elves made me do it." Cue a mascara stained face and an innocent, yet deranged, smile.

"The elves?" The judge, a handsome, Denzel Washington clone, would peer down at her, intrigued by her confession and concerned by her terribly delicate appearance.

"Yes, sir. The elves. You know, those little green elves? That harvest coffee beans in Ecuador? They said if I didn't get rid of that poor, horrible cow, I'd never get another vanilla latte in my life." Insert manic cackle.

Yes. That would definitely end well.

Not.

No, for the sake of the entire office, and Eve's future as a top HR genius, it was best she crack into her assigned lunch hour a little early, and nip out for some coffee-based refuge.

With that in mind, she resigned herself to the brisk walk to The Bean, a scowl on her face and visions of homicide in her head.

As she queued she did her best to avoid making eye contact with the display of baked goods. The cookies would provide the beautiful required sugar high, before sending her plummeting to the cranky abyss, probably at the same time she arrived back to her office chair. No, better to settle for an ice cold coffee frappe cream delight thing. She would be forced to savour its frozen caffeine or face the wrath of brain freeze. It was 11:10 am. No self-respecting person got brain freeze this early in the morning.

As she got closer to the front of the line, she settled her gaze on the shiny curls of the barista, watching as he skilfully perfected his latte art, his artistic fingers directing the machine. Yesterday she had been gut punched by the realisation that Lovely Luke would no longer be serving her coffee, in The Bean or in her bedroom, and today she was presented with some equally handsome percolating perfection. Fingers crossed this one actually like coffee because crikey, he was stunning. She could only imagine the softness of such spiralled perfection, of his glorious inky strands running through her fingers...

"Next!"

The abrasive voice of the cashier shoved Eve out of her nearing naughty fantasy and, with her cheeks glowing, she stepped forward. The female in question was a lot less pleasant to look at, and it was thus with a petulant demeanour that she ordered her 'mocha, cream frappe' with an extra shot of espresso. Had lovely Luke been at the desk, she could've asked for whipped cream, but when faced with the dour expression of the dishwater blonde behind the counter, it seemed like more speech than necessary was akin to physical violence.

Taking her change and receipt, she stepped away from the counter, moving off to the side to await her beverage. From this vantage point she could properly admire the Grecian profile of the hunky barista, and note the sprinkle of freckles across his knuckles. He'd probably look lovely in a toga, she thought wistfully.

"MOCHA CREAM FRAPPE?" The new barista was bellowing and it was very hard for Eve to continue picturing him in a small hand towel at that volume.

Stepping forward, her hand outstretched for the icy drink, she was surprised when his eyes met hers and he withdrew the calories. Before she could protest, he winked at her and whipped off the lid, adding an overly generous dollop of whipped cream, and handed it back to her, a quirk to his lips.

Good Lord, was he perfection? An evil genius? Heaven in human form?

She took a gulp of her chilled drink, hoping to bring down the flames in her cheeks. Caught between wanting to thank him and wanting to appear unbothered by an attractive man knowing her coffee order, she was unsure of how to react. Her hormones were alight, and screaming at her to hug him. Preposterous, considering there was a counter in between them. It had been a while since she had practised her yoga form, and she was well aware of where her physical capabilities ended. Launching herself over the marble boundary was far beyond her flexibility, though she would like to think her hamstrings would make an exception for New Guy. Business Eve was considering a hardy handshake, which would give the impression that she was accustomed to such casual favours. A firm grip, that showed she could handle herself, just enough clench so that his hand would remember her for the rest of the day, his face wincing in pain, perhaps, as she asserted herself as a 'take charge individual and certified lesbian'. To be honest, the moment for a casual response had long passed, and still she was standing there, gawking at him, like a mute stalker. In her embarrassment, she settled for a comically large wave, which nearly upended another customer's hot drink, before she stumbled back out into the street, cursing herself for being so dorky.