Heat (mxm)

The story starts last fall, one Saturday afternoon when I was working at the Java Joint. It looked like it was going to be a pretty slow day. TheJava Joint's a small shop--very old school. We pride ourself on using coffee from independent roasters; we serve all our drinks in real china if you're getting it to stay. There's a shelf full of used books (on the honor System--take a book, leave a book), and none of our furniture matches.We've got our band of loyal customers on weekday mornings--commuters in for their coffee fix before they go downtown--and there's that crowd of students on weekday evenings who are there to cram for exams. Afternoons and weekends are a crapshoot, though, and that day it looked like I'd rolled craps.Just when I was running out of ways to amuse myself, in walked this guy.Ruggedly handsome, but that wasn't the first thing that struck me. The First thing I noticed was just how big he was. I don't mean fat--probably not an ounce of flab on him. But he was like 6-foot-6, and built like a linebacker. Muscles in all the right places, you know. Just a little hintof dark stubble around his angular jaw, and green eyes set in a slightly tanned face that was framed by jet-black hair. The nose looked like it had been broken once or twice. He was wearing a blue dress shirt that showed off pecs and delts that any personal trainer would be proud of, and hinted that the stomach was tight but not perfect. Jeans, not too tight--obviously chosen for comfort and leaving plenty to the imagination.I got a long look at him because it took him a long while to stare at the menu board. It was like he'd never ordered from a coffee shop before or something. I was just on the point of asking him if he needed me to explain anything when he settled on the house special--a doppio espresso macchiato with a light drizzle of chocolate and a hint of orange zest."Good choice sir," I said. "For here or to go?""For here. Thanks.""It'll be up in a minute." 

                                                   I took his money and turned to start making the drink.It was a few moments before I noticed that he was staring at my ass the whole time I was making the drink. As far as I'm concerned, I'm not, for the most part, much to look at. I'm 22, light brown hair, not bad looking if I'm honest, but I've always been pretty thin. I go to the gym, sure,but it's always been a challenge putting on much muscle. The one exception has always been my ass, which is a total bubble butt. It's like it's the one asset (so to speak) God gave me. When I was in high school, I tried to wear baggy clothes so no one would notice. After I went off to college and came out, I realized that you can use your ass to your advantage sometimes,so I've stopped trying to hide it. I'm still self-conscious about it sometimes, though.Like this time. For some reason, it felt weird having this hot guy staringat my ass while I was trying to zest an orange onto a demitasse of espresso.Anyway, I gave him the drink, and I figured that would be the end of it. I mean, he wasn't exactly the first hot guy to walk into my coffee shop, and usually the most that happens is a wink and a nod. He took the cup and put it on the coffee table near the couch. He then went to the bookshelf and grabbed something.About a half hour went by, during which I served maybe about four other customers. Like I said, pretty slow. I took the chance to go out from behind the counter to wash  the dirty dishes. He was still there."You finished with your cup, sir?" I said."Oh--yes, thanks." "How'd you like the house special?"  "Good. Small. But good."  "Yeah, a lot of people don't zero in on how it's a doppio, so it comes  small." "Hey--do you mind if I order something else?" "Sure. I'll bring it out to you, even. Normally I don't do table service,but in your case--" "Cool. Can I get a coffee? Just a regular, black, drip coffee?" "We don't do that. Just kidding. Of course I can do that. Small, medium,or large?" "Medium's fine. For here. I'm getting into this book."I went to pour his coffee, and I brought it back. "What are you reading?"He showed me. The Plague, by Camus."Not at all what I thought you'd be into," I said."What--because you think I'm a dumb jock or something?" "No. Not that at all. It's just--that's a black turtleneck and clove cigarette sort of book. You look too...well, too middle-of-the road to bethe type that's into French existentialism."" Well, I guess there's a lot you don't know about me," he said."In fairness, there's almost nothing that I do know about you. So far, Iknow that you drink coffee, read Camus, and are touchy about some things." "We can talk about it later, I guess. When do you get off work?"  Now there's a question that a boy doesn't often get to hear. Could mean a few different things. I figured I'd just answer and see where it went."Six o'clock.""So if I leave and come back at about 6:10, you'll be out of uniform and having a post-work cup of tea or something?" Code for: hang around afterwork and don't go anywhere.~~~~6:10 rolled around, and there he was.