Coffee Time

Keegan

Sunlight forces my eyes open, and for a second, I again don’t know where I am. Then I grab my phone in a panic: It’s nine o’clock; I overslept, big time. I should already be at the newspaper. I wanted to be there when the editor, Jason Parker, arrived, before he got busy and had an excuse not to see me.

I grab a towel from one bin and my toiletries from another, then race to the shower. Ten minutes later, I throw on my clothes, hurriedly brush my teeth, then pull my wet hair into a ponytail. I skip the makeup. Stuffing my laptop and phone into my backpack, along with the books I’ll need for my first day of classes, I hit the stairs.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafts into my nostrils as I reach the living room, and I remember the bananas and protein bars I picked up at the store. I’m starving. A five-minute delay for breakfast probably won’t make much difference at this point. So I veer into the kitchen and almost collide with Blue. He’s leaning against the counter with his legs crossed, shirtless and wearing those same plaid boxers.

“Whoa,” he exclaims, lifting his coffee mug out of the way just in time, “slow down there, roomie.”

He smells citrusy and kind of soapy, and his dark hair is wet. And there’s that stomach, that chest, those arms. I wish the boy would just keep his shirt on.

I feel myself blushing for what must be the dozenth time since we met. “Oh, sorry.” I step back and hear a yelp. Max is looking up at me, wagging his tail. “Yikes, sorry, Max. I didn’t mean to step on you, buddy.” I lean down to pet the dog’s head, then glance at Blue, wondering how bad my bare, tired face looks to him.

Keegan Crenshaw. Just stop it. Of all the things I should be worried about, I can’t believe I’m wasting time on what this guy thinks of me without makeup. But even a full-name self-lecture probably won’t stop me from doing it. And it sure won’t stop my eyes from lingering on Blue’s tanned, muscular legs. He sure looks good in those boxers. He probably looks even better wearing nothing at all.

Ugh. What the hell? Irritated by my wayward thoughts, I start opening the dilapidated cabinets, searching for another coffee mug. But all I find is a mishmash of plastic beer cups, Chinese food soup containers, and, weirdly, a set of Hello Kitty plates.

“We don’t have much in the way of real dishes,” Blue says, apologetically, reaching on top of the fridge for a package of Styrofoam cups. “And what we do have is usually dirty. Thanks mainly to Hunter.” He pours coffee from a drip coffeemaker on the counter into one and hands me the cup. “Pretty sure I have the only actual mug in the house.”

He lifts his cup to show me. It’s white and oversized, with the words UNITED STATES ARMY in gold and an American flag next to some kind of seal. There’s a chip on the top of the handle. “I guard this one with my life,” he adds with a grin. “But I might consider loaning it to you, when I’m not using it, of course.”

It seems impossible not to return his infectious smile. “Thanks,” I murmur, letting my backpack slide off my shoulder and wrapping my hands around the Styrofoam. I stand there sipping with my eyes closed, wishing today was already over with. When I open my eyes, I see Blue’s staring curiously at me.

“So, Keegan,” he asks, “how’d you sleep your first night?”

I take another sip before responding. “Not great,” I shrug, “bad dreams.” I of course leave out the part about soothing my turmoil last night by thinking of him.

Blue nods, staring down into his cup. “Yeah,” he says in a husky whisper. “I know all about bad dreams.”

I stare at his lips, hovering over the steam from his coffee, and something in my nether region does a little happy dance. I drag my gaze away from his lips.

There’s an expectant silence between us for a moment, and I think maybe Blue’s acknowledgement of his own bad dreams means he is about to tell me how he got those scars.

But the moment passes, and he doesn’t say anything. And I’m okay with that. The would-be journalist in me wants to hear his story. But the rest of me suddenly doesn’t. I’m on overload with my new housemate, physically and emotionally. Just being around him seems to turn me upside down. I can’t process any more from him right now.

I set my cup on the counter and open the cabinet, where I stashed my small supply of food. “I’m really late,” I say before tearing open a protein bar and shoving it into my mouth. “I have to go.” I take one last sip of coffee and look around for the trash. Blue points at a tall, overflowing can on the other side of the fridge. I push my cup into the middle of the pile, then watch it slide to the floor.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “I’ll be doing some more cleaning today. Didn’t manage to do much yesterday.” He pushes his fingers through his short hair and sighs. “Kendra and Hunter damn well better help me. We’ve got a lot to do to get ready for this weekend.”

I’m bending down to pick up my backpack when he says that, and my stomach lurches with dread. “There’s another party this weekend?”

“Yes, ma’am. We always throw a helluva Labor Day weekend party.” He chuckles as I roll my eyes. “I did warn you, Keegan.” He raises his mug to his lips as his eyes twinkle at me. “Hey, you could cover the party for the paper. That’s something people around here might actually want to read about.”

“Uh, no.” I probably sound like a snot. But even if I do get a reporter job, there’s no way in hell I’d offer to cover some dumb college party.

“And you’ll get to hear me play a mean bass,” Blue goes on as if he didn’t hear me. He throws me that tantalizing smile, and my insides feel like they’re melting. “Maybe I’ll even sing that song for you at the party.”

I’ve so got to get control of myself. “We’ll see,” I manage to reply. “Now, I’ve really got to go. ’Bye, Blue. And, um, thanks for the coffee.”

“Hey, no problem. And good luck at the newspaper.”

I smile once more at him and rush out the door.