Forget to Remember - 1. Chapter 1

Every tale begins with something special and meaningful. The glories of a youthful love affair, of finding the ONE, eyes snapping to yours and consuming each other in a passionate fire. It would be fate, a meeting made for the twilight fires of middle age, telling mutual friends of their adorable and instantly known love story as everyone reminisced on their passed youth.

Except when it doesn't. I'd pretty much given up the hopes of adolescent me, that some knight would swoop down and lift me away in his big strong arms. I was no longer sure about the post adolescent fantasies that I would miraculously blossom into. Something. And swoop in to save myself, going on to meet the love of my life at the bank or by the bar at a happy hour, a sweetly adorable love interest with bright eyes and even brighter hopes. At 26 I think those parts of me still exist. But they exist very quietly.

Driving through the evening traffic which is no worse and no better than any other Tuesday, I recognize that I hear the self mocking voice of my anxiety far more these days than the sunny hopeful voice that led the charge through my exceedingly long and lonely growing up. That voice is a reminder to stop looking for fantastic perfection and a fairy tale and start living in reality. But neither does every story begin with a melancholy tale of woe and love unrequited. My story lives somewhere in between, which frankly, is where most of us begin.

*********

“Josh, what do you think about establishing a ground rules with Nathan? Is it too much? Too soon?”

Maris hunches over in her chair while she asks me, stirring her over creamed coffee into a whirlpool with a tense rush of words that thud onto the table to lay there among the debris of half eaten muffins and both our phones. I blink and do a great gaping fish face, before launching an exasperated sigh.

“Maris, aren't I the literal last person someone should ask? I haven't even been on a date in 17 months, let alone been in a relationship where you need to establish rules. Besides, I thought you both were just keeping it casual?”

I pause, raising an eyebrow, and take in Maris’s flushed cheeks with a grimly amused half smile. I'm realizing while she may have said she was keeping it casual, and this time of course she's serious, she has again teetered dangerously into her typical relationship minefield of fast deep feelings and poorly thought out choices with just a hint of possessiveness.

“Josh……” she whines in a warning tone. “It's just that you give such good advice. I can't help that I'm bad at, you know, using it,” She flaps her hand at me impatiently continuing,

“Or that it never seems to work for yourself,”

She says it lightly, with a smile to take the sting out. It still feels too hot and too close to the truth. I can't be trusted with my own advice. While Maris comes to me in search of comforting wisdom about how to make her love life work better, I can't even make one happen. Thus, the sound I make in response to her is suspiciously like a guffaw.

“Maris. Darling. Sweetheart. I suck at relationships. And so do you.”

Maris abruptly sits up and flings her shiny curtain of hair to one side. Her mouth is pursed as she tilts her face back to me.

“Cut the crap Josh. You're always so down on yourself. You're a great guy. You're adorable, smart and have a good job. You just, haven't met the right one is all,” she trails off softly.

Her shiny ruby glossed bottom lip is caught between her teeth. She looks guilty because we both know that not only am I right, but the only one of us who has a chance of changing perpetual singlehood is Maris.

I haven't really had relationships. Sure, we established it’s been a while since I'd even exchanged numbers with someone, but even before my last date happened (a disaster which ended in him breaking down crying when his ex called with a breathless promise to forgive and forget while I was in the john thanks to my three quickly downed beers, leaving me to return to a table occupied by a sobbing man and a heaping entree of embarrassment), I really didn't get out there much. Everything was so much easier in my head, and the fascinating game others played of meeting, flirting and tethering themselves to someone attractive was often too bewildering to me to navigate when I tried. The clubs were loud and intimidating, dating at work was a horrifying prospect, and blind dates via friends were unfailingly awkward the few times it occurred back in college. Being the kind of person who is put off and flustered by both failure and discomfort, the more experiences I had like that (read: all of them) the less effort I made in even trying. Now at 26 I suspect I’m forever out gamed and yet unwilling to settle. At least I like cats.

I've known Maris for six years. We met on the campus shuttle at Carmichael University. I had started the term finally living in one of the better dorms, which was also one of the most outlying on campus. However, a perk for me was that the shuttle bus system ran directly from my dorm to the center of campus every 15 minutes. Daily I was deposited neatly on a sidewalk steps away from whatever my destination was, and so the option of a single room far away from everything and everyone or a cramped shared one in the heart of campus was no hard choice at all.

I've never been a talker. I have a lot to say, but I'm not blind to the knowledge that my life largely lacks an audience. Like I said, I kept waiting to grow out of my teenage awkwardness. At 20, when I met Maris, it was still in full swing. At 26 I am beginning to understand it's probably just who I am.

Let me say more about myself here. I'm not ugly, I'm nondescript. Brown eyes, brown hair, and fair skin. I'm not a burly man's man but I'm not a twink. I'm 5’10 in my socks and I hover around 185lbs, so I have some soft spots but I'm not chubby, exactly. Wide shoulders, big hands but no athletic ability, and a firm disinterest in the gym. I'm boringly guy shaped. The everyman. If I were bolder and the type of James Bond hero I'd love to be, I could be a great spy, because I'm easily forgettable in my placid no-stand-out-features.

My best friend though, striking is a word for her. Maris is tiny. Petite and pinkishly sweet like a bowl of sorbet. She is barely 5 feet, creamy pale with long strawberry blonde curls. Her every move broadcasts sass and charm, which is such a contrast to my own plain, unassuming, and quiet self.

Maris’s personality as I’ve come to know her, is just as heady as promised during that first campus bus meeting. She may look like a delicate blossom, but behind the sweet smile is a lewd, crude, and absolutely hilariously witty mouth. I'd noticed her before on our bus rides, it's hard to miss such a stormfront of excitement. She had slid into an empty bench seat next to me one morning during our shared commute and simply tossed her hair and stated, “Hey doll. I'm Maris,” in such a tone that her simple introduction sounded to my ears like a challenge. My thoughts drift back to that day.

My eyes had jerked up from the page of the silly but witty British fantasy novel I had been reading while my brain caught up with my ears.

“You're from Paris?”

I blurted out stupidly as my brow wrinkled. Of all the people to talk to me, notice me. It’s a crazy person launching into origin stories. She didn't sound French though.

“No,” she vibrated with laughter. “I'm Maris. I'm not from Paris.”

The silence stretched taut between us when I didn't respond immediately with my name. I simply looked blankly at her trying to understand why she was involving me in a conversation. With another toss of sunkissed curls she rolled her eyes, smiled sweetly and prodded.

“What's your name doll?”

I was confused and unsure. No one ever approached me. I wasn't entirely sure I wanted that to change. On the one hand I would love to have friends, but on the other, my childhood and especially the years in high school, had taught me that not only did people tend to not pursue friendships with me but I usually ruined things before they started, with my constant awkward anxiety ridden social foibles.

I realized this new woman was gazing at me expectantly with raised golden brows, her anticipation clouding the stale shuttle bus air around us.

“Josh. I'm. I'm called J-Josh”

I managed to stutter out gracelessly while casting my eyes helplessly back at my novel as if it held the answers to my life.

“Good to meet you Josh.”

She purred, smirking and leaning so close to me I feel the heat from her body, making my eyes widen. Is she coming on to me? Shit. What do I do? Oh no. This is bad.

“So….Joshy….I bet you know where the cutest boys are,” she husked at me, her nose wrinkling with delight as she took in my surprise.

I went into a shutdown. Every sense was filled to overload.

She could tell I was gay! But how? I totally was, but I didn't go for the camp and glitter or overly put together fashion plate looks I'd seen on the other obviously gay types roaming the campus. And yeah, I know that looking gay is a stereotype, but so far two years at Carmichael U had shown me lots of evidence they held some truth. Also while she may have on point gaydar, apparently she could not tell that I was a friendless vagabond washed upon these college shores, with few ideas of where these cute boys might be hiding except the bare truth of not anywhere around me.

“Uhh.. I….”

I gulped and stuttered trying to look anywhere but her, to be anywhere but there. My face was hot and my mouth dry. I felt like I was drowning, my eyes widening as I felt my old friend Mr. Panic Attack waking up.

“Hey!” She suddenly leaned into me, her face serious and with no trace of that cat-like sensuality.

“Josh are you ok, I'm sorry. I can be such a tease but I didn't mean to upset you”

Her face looked tense and her small hand hovered over my arm, instinctively knowing touching me was not going to help me keep it together. I drew a deep breath and raised my eyes to hers.

“I'm ok. Sorry. I can be a bit…..” I bit my lip and tried frantically to think of a word that didn't make me sound like a pathetic spaz.

“No you're fine, it's my fault,” she answered ruefully, leaning back into the faded bus bench.

“My mom always said I'm in charge of a mouth that writes checks my ass can't cash. How I need to be more mindful of how I talk to strangers. Lets try again.”

While I hate to think of myself as a pathetic spaz, I'm proven wrong when I stare bewildered at her and say, “huh?” loudly and with evident confusion.

She smiles shyly and taking a deep breath she holds her hand out to shake and sweetly says, “Hi. I'm Maris Fontaine. You seem nice, like someone who can be a good steady friend. And it looks like I need someone to reel me in. What's your name?”

She waits, perfect eyebrow raised, sweet as peach smile curving her lips. I pause. So this gorgeous intense charmer wants a new friend? In me? She has waded through these awkward few minutes and yet still wants a redo? Ok. Take a deep breath, well Josh, you said this year you were finally making friends and here it is. Make a friend. Oh god wait still blankly sitting here. You spaz. You have to say something. Speak up! So I do.

“J- Josh. Joshua Alan Morris, sophomore, book lover and spaz extraordinaire,” the words tumbling quickly from my lips.

Maris laughs, her full cheeks blooming into rose tinted joy, delighted at my effort. I grin back, taken by surprise and suddenly I knew life as I had known it was over, and something brighter took its place.

This coffee shop where I was spending my Tuesday evening with Maris, where we regularly spent our evenings out, was my sanctuary. My second home for the last 4 years. I'm pretty sure I'm at least some of the reason they have the social special mug: a 5 dollar mug of coffee that could be refilled your whole stay. Perfect for those amongst us who sit in coffeehouses for upwards of three hours.

What could anyone seriously in a cafe for three hours you ask? Well fresh out of school, what else did I have to do. Back when I found this place, shortly before graduation, I was a close to broke student without regular employment. Thankfully scholarships, grants, and my admittedly small college fund let me get out of my education without debt. But there was a small matter of rent and food and you know, LIFE, to pay for. My small amount of money wouldn't last forever, especially jobless. Maris as usual had come through to rescue me. We had graduated in the same class with 2700 other young hopefuls and as neither felt a need to move back to our cities of origin or most importantly away from each other, we stayed in town. Maris had settled into a local high end construction company as the sum total of their new marketing department. She excelled at what she did, using every drop of her personality to sell the company's services to whoever was buying. I didn't really have many prospects lined up, so I while I stayed in the medium sized Ohio town we had finished university in, we became roommates as well as best friends.

I'm sure if I had been straight, or Maris a guy, we would have been a couple from day one. Instead we were the soul mates that our friends teased were actually in a platonic marriage. I helped her through her ups and downs of romance and she nagged me to go on dates, even setting up a few for me. I helped her bond with her explosively charming and overwhelming family, who she deliberately lived a few hours away from and she shared them since I had none. When Maris landed that first big girl job, we moved into her luxe two bedroom apartment with a balcony and a great kitchen and, oh yeah, how did I make my share of the rent?

Well, I didn't really. Not at first. It took me almost 3 months past graduation to get my current job. In the meantime I was using my savings and feeling increasingly desperate. Maybe I'd be the English major cliche that ended up a manager at the grocery store. I was putting forth a token amount of money to rent from my part time gig tutoring at the university for the summer students, which Maris accepted without complaint and without comment. She didn't truly need me to help pay the expenses, she wasn't super rich but had a healthy bank account, generous parents and a great paying job. Still, I'm not a user. I wanted to get things right with her.

Why not move into my mom and dad's then you ask?

Excellent question.

They didn't exist.

My mom passed when I was three. Car accident. I barely have a memory of her besides a snatch of a James Taylor song sung as a lullaby and the impression of warmth. My dad tried I guess, but I always felt like I was just a chore to him. He had been older than my mom by a good twenty five years. Consequently, he was in his fifties when I was born. She had been an only child as far as I knew, though my dad had one older brother who died in Vietnam. His parents died before I was born and I wasn't aware of any extended family. Dad always worked a lot and we had a housekeeper who doubled as a nanny for me until I was 14. Then her daughter moved out of state and Mrs. Davis decided to follow. So we got a twice weekly cleaning service and I was left alone. My dad was clearly who I got my personality from, he was quiet, a loner, and he worked as an accountant. He was a nice guy, just not very social or warm.

We just never clicked, so although I guess he loved me, and I guess I loved him, it felt like it was obligation if nothing else. I had food, shelter, an allowance and all the things you do for kids except the love and attention. There wasn't any catch in the yard, or Saturday morning snuggles, or anything like that. I suspect my mom had wanted a baby and as he had no children yet he wanted to please her, his sweet younger bride. After she was gone he was left lost on what to do. We were like strangers sharing a house.

Dad had looked crushed and vaguely unsettled when I came out as gay my senior year of high school but it didn't really change anything. He just nodded and said thanks for telling him, gave me an awkward hug and left the kitchen. He never mentioned it again and we went on living parallel lives. He passed away from a heart attack at the beginning of my sophomore year of university, at the age of 73. It was shortly before I met Maris. I didn't really feel the loss of him, as much as I felt hurt to lose the possibility of a dad. His lawyer handled everything, and there wasn't a service per his will. He didn't have a huge estate, we weren't monied, but I was able to pay for school tuition, the single dorm I lived in, and bought a car I rarely use anyway. The house was sold, and the money used to fund college expenses and what was left went in my savings, so I really had nowhere and no one to go back to. All I had was some money in the bank, but not enough to endlessly fund a jobless life of leisure. It seemed then like I was destined to be awkward forever. And possibly living with Maris for just as long.

I put the coffee mug in my sink, still thinking of those early years, giving it a cursory rinse before leaving it. No time for my favorite coffee shop this Wednesday morning, just a quick keurig brew. I needed to be focused and not late, as today was the MCAT. This was a major test, used for medical school admittance and security for the test ran very tightly. No I wasn't using my English degree as a launching pad for being a doctor. I was a test proctor, meaning I administered exams, mostly the big ones that people used for entrance into graduate school programs. I had really lucked out with this position too.

After tutoring the whole summer past graduation, I had been complaining to my new found friend Sarah, an anthropology major, at the Learning Center where I helped the undergrads rewrite their incompetent papers. She had constantly heard my worries about finding a job where I could support myself. I loved living with Maris and our midnight margaritas and watching stupid TV but I also knew I wasn't paying my share. Being grateful for the hand up this first summer didn't mean I wanted to feel dependent on her forever. Also in the front of my mind was living with her was great now but what about in a few years when she wanted to settle down. Or got tired of the potential for spazfest 24/7. I needed full time work.

Sarah came in to the Learning Center on a Tuesday near end of that first summer, her black eyes sparkling and a grin nearly cracking her face in half.

“I found you a job!” she crowed triumphantly.

I paused in the act of lifting my Coke to my lips, smiling in response to her excitement.

“What is it?” I asked, my mind coming up with and summarily rejecting about fifteen scenarios. Sarah was a pistol, and her ideas weren't always rooted in reality.

“No Josh listen. Seriously. Heidi, you know the tall blonde who's in charge over at the Testing department and has been looking so frazzled all summer well it came up this morning when we were getting coffee that Angie isn't coming back from maternity leave after all, Heidi just heard this morning. She needs a new assistant director. Best of all, Heidi is a sorority sister, well I mean, she's part of my sorority for all that she's a good twelve years older than me but hey anyway that's good because I told her all about you and since I know you don't work on Friday I asked if she could interview you then. Here's her card!” she breathlessly finished the world's longest explanation and presented me with a business card labeled boldly with Heidi Cox: Carmichael University Testing Center Director and the associated contact information.

I was stunned. I hadn't known Sarah that long, she was a senior student and stayed over the summer because she lived in town so the work was convenient. This was an opportunity to stay in the familiar, to stay at Carmichael U which to be fair I was more comfortable with than the thought of a new workplace. Maris hadn't changed me completely. I was still shy and a spaz.

That Friday found me nearly panting with nerves but Heidi was a great interviewer. She had me relaxed quickly and took my intense focus a marker of my ability to follow the intricate and exacting rules of high stakes test administration. Or maybe she was desperate. But by 6pm Friday I had a job that paid decently and I started that next Wednesday.

I've been there nearly four years now and it suits me perfectly. As much as I loved Maris and she loved me, a year of living together had been enough. A couple years back I'd found my own place, a cute ranch style condo in a decent neighborhood. I knew that while I might have struggles in lots of other areas, I was a sight better off than many recent college grads, at least financially. I didn't swim in money, not at all, but I wasn't having to live with 3 roommates and make crippling student loan payments and I had been able to come up with a decent down payment for my place. All by 24.

Today the rising sun is shining and the early morning wind rolled through my window smelling fresh and vibrant as I drive cautiously or as my friends say like a granny to my work . But I'm able to get to the testing center lobby, unlock and begin to set up the testing stations a good 20 minutes before I can start checking in the little science cherubs. I like being organized and in control. It's going to be a great day.

Oh wait. This is my day. A day in my life. Of course it didn't stay great.

Later that afternoon I ran my fingers through my limp brown hair, every gesture an effort as I was drooping with exhaustion, my shirt rumpled, one sleeve rolled up, back clammy with sweat and fuck all knew where my tie had gone. I needed coffee in the worst way. Today had been one of the worst I've ever had. One of the worst days ever.

Check in was no worse than typical, as usual someone forgot the detailed instructions sent when registering for something as huge as the MCAT and hadn't brought the proper ID to their test and was consequently denied entry. I hated to do it but my whole job was enforcing these rules. The usual complaining and crying ensued, I explained that they had a time window to get the required ID in to the center and almost ten minutes after a frantic call to a roommate later one frazzled curly headed girl was signed in and allowed into the room with her assigned #2 pencil and two sheets of plain paper.

Not so bad right? For a half hour it was business as usual.

Then the power went out. And all the computers failed. Cue the panic attacks of 18 students vying for med school admission through an extremely expensive computerized system that just suddenly went kaput, all under the dim emergency lights casting shadows that seemed to increase the level of everyone's nerves.

I tried to keep everyone calm and not talking to each other, lest they forfeit the test, to see if the power would miraculously switch back on, and perhaps this little blip could be forgotten and the day would move forward.

But oh ho ho did the universe have jokes today.

The power never came back on, after 15 minutes I had to call the MCAT administrative help desk, explain the situation while 18 potential med students cried and wailed and generally made my life hell demanding for me to “do something!!”

Just shut up, holy hell shut UP I'm on the phone doing something, I'm getting it covered!

I didn't say that. Out loud. I seethed and settled for glaring at the ruckus while giving the bored customer service representative the details of all my test takers, our location, and reason for the test stoppage so all 18 precious crying cherubs could have their $315 refunded and first priority at a reschedule date.

But as if that wasn't enough. Whatever happened blew something major and the AC had shut off. Fine ok. Let me get the cherubs on their way and I'll call it a day and head out of this sweltering basement level rabbit warren. Easy peasy.

No.

The security system was down, a victim to the massive brown out across campus. Carmichael U needed to upgrade it's electrical systems badly it was obvious. So. Because of that, I needed to wait for a manual check and lock out from security. And wouldn't you know Dave in security clearly had better things to do than walk his happy chubby ass over to my aforementioned hellscape of a sweltering basement location in a timely manner. Three hours and four increasingly frustrated and yes, bitchy, reminder phone calls later until I was walking back to my car ready to call this parade of fuckery a day.

Again. No.

My car had a flat. It was with a sickening jolt that I recalled I never did replace that old donut tire like I meant to. I stood in front of my little blue hatchback and tried not to sob at the level of punishment I had apparently achieved today.

Two hours in the hot sun later, AAA had completed a tire change, my credit card had a nearly 300 dollar ding and I was FINALLY able to fucking leave. I was tempted to peel out of the lot, tires squealing but caution won as it always does.

I needed coffee in the worst damn way. Every other word I was thinking was a curse word. I was hot, sweaty, frustrated and starved. Off to The Buzz coffee shop I go!

The coffee shop was fairly quiet. Not dead, but the usual suspects for 2pm on a random Tuesday. A few mom types, clearly getting a few stolen moments in while the darlings pasted and colored at playgroup. Some students, but because my fave coffeehouse was situated farther from campus not too many of those, and one guy with a gleaming shark smile, two phones and an obnoxious pile of paperwork taking up a whole table.

I strolled to the counter and faced Jonathan, today's barista. Jonathan is not my favorite. He's a rude, tedious and overly preening twink who flirts extremely obviously with all the hunky guys even when they're glaringly straight. Or with their girlfriend. He's also adorable, charming and super confident. I love to hate him.

“Hullo, howcanIhelpyou.”

Jonathan sighs and pushes his words out quickly like he can't wait to be done taking my order.

“Cinnamon latte, to go, large please” I state calmly, even though at this point my day has been stressful enough that his bored tone makes me want to shake him until his lip gloss slides off his pouty face.

“Sure.”

He drawls and casually drifts away to start making it, when suddenly he looks behind me and perks up like a prairie dog popping out of a den. He's suddenly bustling and seems chipper and eager, calling out to me sweetly.

“That'll be $4.15 love!”

I hand him my money, wondering at this sudden change when it hits me. This raw scent of man, powerful and like a sun drenched fields and also shaded tree lined brooks. It was sensual, beautiful and I was scared to look.

But I did. And holy hell, did I look. Coming up to the counter was the most gorgeous chiseled beautiful dictionary definition of a man I'd ever seen. He was probably at least 6’4, ripped and had shoulders you could hold onto all night if you know what I mean. My crotch knew what I meant for sure. He had hair so blond it was nearly white, but a gorgeous tan the color of honey on a fresh baked biscuit. His eyes were shining and though I couldn't tell what color they were from here, they hinted he felt happy. He was watchful which fit him because also, he was a cop and he filled out his dress blues like he was poured into them. I snapped my suddenly burning face back around and moved down the counter to give Officer Goodbody space.

“Hi hi Officer Kells.”

Jonathan simpered, swaying his tiny body halfway over the counter as he batted his eyelashes at the extremely fit cop. He went on, biting his lip and blushing.

“Your usual I guess?”

Little slut. Back off.

Whoa. Whoa Josh. You don't even know this guy and anyway he would never look at your boring self and also he's definitely not even gay.

I shake my head at myself and start checking my Instagram as I wait for my drink and try to covertly eye Officer Goodbody’s, I mean, Officer Kells’ ass. The cop laughs with genuine delight and amusement at Jonathan’s slutty wiles and winks when saying

“Yeah sure, be quick though, because I'm not supposed to be breaking right now.”

Jonathan giggles and flounces to the espresso machine. I roll my eyes but lose myself in my phone for a bit, waiting impatiently for the glory that is my latte to arrive when I see a to go cup slide onto the counter. I slap my phone into my pocket and reach for the cup, when I collide into a hard body who is also reaching for the cup. My nondescript arm slides against his thick corded forearm, oh he has freckles, and my side checks into his tactical belt covered hip. We both stop and look at the cup. Each other. The cup.

Jonathan clears his throat, cutting sharp eyes at me

“Officer Kells this is yours. Cinnamon latte to go, now don't be late, I'd hate to see you--”

He flicks his eyes up and down and teases.

“--get in trouble.”

I'm annoyed and my face had to be screaming that, because Officer Goodbody looks away from me, frowns and asks the barista twink.

“Shouldn’t his order be up first? I'm not here to jump the line.”

Turning his concerned silvery blue grey eyes on me, oh yes I can see their color now and they're a deliciously deep pool I don't wanna climb out of, he questions me with

“What did you order?”

I blush and exasperatedly state in what I can only shamefacedly call a whine.

“...a cinnamon latte.”

The golden stud, I mean Officer Kells, geesh Josh hold yourself together, looks down at me, sweeping those gorgeous eyes across my obviously debilitated body. He smiles a sweet little smirk and steps forward grabbing the to go cup and handing it to me. His eyes are moonlight on the ocean and his mouth opens oh it's so warm looking and inviting.

“You take it then. Don't let it be said I deprived a pretty boy of his restorative afternoon delight.”

He says before winking.

I stand rooted. I look down at my loafers, up again at his face and down. My blush is the fire of a thousand suns. I'm melting under the force of that smile, those muscles, his intoxicating smell. Oh god. I'm rivaling jonathan-the -rudest-barista-ever in my complete adolescent adoration of this man. How hard am I breathing? Wait am I still breathing?? I take the coffee and croak.

“Th-thank you officer.”

Sigh. Why am I such a dork.

“It's Kevin. Kevin Kells. But my friends and lovers all call me Kells”

He murmurs at me with a small grin. His eyes slide down my body again, setting my soul open to his inspection. He is resting against the counter dangerously close to my personal space.

“Oh. Oh. Y-y-yes. Um. Ok. Kevin.”

Oh Jesus take the wheel I'm stumbling my words like I'm 13 again. He raises his eyebrow. What. What? Ohhh!

“I'm Josh. Josh Morris.”

I manage to gasp out with wide eyes. An annoyed sigh and a slam signals the arrival of a second cup on the counter.

“Cinnamon latte.”

The twink bites out, glaring at me furiously.

“You can call me Kells. See you around pretty Joshy.”

The blond cop says, before grabbing his cup and sauntering back out to his waiting patrol car. I turn to watch, clutching the paper cup his fingers were just wrapped around, and see him lift his hand in acknowledgment of my interest before he drives away.

This is the best day ever.

**********

“Josh. Are you blind. I'm telling you, he was totally flirting!!” Maris squealed in excitement, batting her small hands against my arm. “Why didn't you give him your number?”

I blinked. It had been two days since I had my coffee infused encounter with Officer Goodbody, and I was still unsure I hadn't misconstrued the whole situation. Why would such a gorgeous man, capable of pulling whoever he wanted on the regular, be at all interested in plain, boring me? It didn't make sense. Kevin Kells being gay was implausible. Kevin Kells being interested in me was impossible. Guys like him went for attractive, smooth, witty guys. Guys who could flirt and not act like they'd skipped the tutorial for dude rules of interaction back in 7th grade. They wanted quick witted, sexy, charming guys like Jonathan. Or any of the pretty ones at the clubs, lining the dance floor and ready for fun.

He called you pretty though I suddenly remembered. I was still astounded by this and said so to Maris.

“He called me pretty. Pretty Joshy”

“I know,” she giggled. “You've said so, a few times.” ok so maybe I'd told her this story more than once in the last 48 hours.

“I should have given him my number. Now what? Hang around the coffee shop hoping I can ogle him if he comes back to get lattes?”

I was dismayed and frustrated. Spaz strikes again.

“Don't worry so much Josh,” counseled Maris. “I bet you'll see him again. How many other places even serve cinnamon lattes in this town?”

She has a point. While there are 4 or 5 coffee shops on Carmichael U’s campus, this neighborhood was 15 miles out from there and The Buzz remains a sole installment to the art of the bean.

I try to relax. But my mind is spinning trying to make sense of that bizarre encounter, where logic failed to execute any understanding of why I had attracted such attention from a man too sexy for words, especially when I had presented myself at that coffee counter as nothing but a sweaty, tongue tied hot mess.

“Well look Josh, I gotta run. Nathan is waiting and it's our four month anniversary.”

Maris smugly states. Her tongue ran lightly over her lips as her cheeks pinkend noticeably.

“Have fun and be good Maris"

I laugh, thinking of the wild dates she's dreamed up before, for other men she tried hard to please on big occasions such as a monthsaversary

“If you can't be good, be good at it. Now go get yourself some dick.”

Maris saucily tossed at me before flouncing away from the cafe table to prepare for her night out. Blushing, I watch her leave, then look at the front where Jonathan was wiping counters. He’s been shorter than usual with me, obviously the flirting episode with Offic-- I mean, Kevin, I mean Kells, hadn't escaped his notice the other day. Sigh. Don't worry Jonathan, I'm sure it meant nothing.

Maybe I'd go to the grocery. Yes.That's more my speed. Josh Morris; 26 and spending a wild Friday night at the grocery store picking out bananas and debating skim milk versus 2%

Someone shoot me. Or just drop the cats off now thanks.

*********

I meant it. I’m spending my Friday shopping for veggies and stuff. Ok so, probably more stuff than actual veggies. Though, I bet Officer Goodbody eats his veggies. Mmmmmm. Yes. Those thighs. Those shoulders. That golden freckled pillar of an arm. I shake my head at my lust hazed daydream and hop out of my car heading into the local supermarket. After grabbing a cart, I look at the peaches on display, debating if I can remember to eat all of them this time before they rot, when I feel eyes on me, a tingle sending shivers across my shoulders. This is instantly followed by a voice that sends a lightning bolt down my spine. A deep voice that purrs directly behind me.

“Those peaches aren't half as pretty as you Josh.”

Oh no. No. Please. I shut my eyes, mentally cataloguing what I'm wearing and how terrible I must look after a workday and cafe date with Maris, which means I hadn't gone home to change or freshen up. God was I never going to look put together for him? I turn around and feel my heartbeat grind to a stop.

It's Officer Kevin ‘Goodbody’ Kells of course. In gym clothes. Clothes being a very generous term for the nominal t shirt with slashed collar and split sides showing off every sharp muscled line of his chest and arms and a pair of too small to be legal dark blue running shorts. I swear I can see his dick outline. Oh god. His smile is so seductive.

“Hello.” he tips his head to the side as he greets me, lazy smile starting on those perfect lips.

I swallow nervously, feeling overwhelmed and a little drunk. I open my mouth to say hi but nothing comes out. I suck in breaths like I'm going to asphyxiate.

“Hi.”

I squeal out in a register close to being able to signal every stray dog in the tri-state area. I clear my throat which allows a more natural and less dolphinesque pitch and ask

“What are you doing here?”

“Checking out the merchandise.”

He smirks, with those molten steel eyes.

Oh. What I want to quip back is there’s a sale on dorky awkward gay university employees. Then we smash into each other and those arms would crush me against him as I rub myself on his golden column of a body like the friction was my only salvation. In reality though, I just stare at him and feel my control vacate the premises. I dumbly look back at him, unable to form anything resembling coherency, but feel sure he can read me like a book.

He laughs a throaty chuckle which does nothing to bring me back from the edge. His eyes travel down my body and the lower they go the faster I begin to realize my rumpled work slacks are housing very obvious evidence that this merchandise is ready to leap off the shelf and into his bed. I peek down at the world's smallest running shorts and holy of holies Officer Goodbody is in danger of an indecent exposure citation. My mind flies into overdrive and kickstarts my tongue.

“Oh Fuck yes….l want...”

I breathe the words. Gasping I snap my eyes back to his face. His hand comes up close between us and it's too much. I'm shattering. Pieces of me are about to explode all over the peaches, Officer Goodbody, Linda who’s looking suspiciously at the pineapples, and the pimply clerk sullenly stocking the salad bar. I can't handle it. This can't be real.

I bolt. Groceries be damned. I hear his voice sliding like velvet over the distance as I exit the store with my rapidly dampening pants and the shreds of my dignity.

“So Josh, I'll see you around?”

Had I turned, then I would have seen his self satisfied grin. But I'm halfway to my car already.

I sit in my driveway. I've not one memory of the drive home. My heart is still galloping and I'm yelling at my steering wheel.

“You. Are. So. Stupid. Arrrrghh!”

I punctuate this with a slap to the dashboard. What on earth was wrong with me. As unbelievable as this entire farce might be, I had the opportunity to give him my number, be bold and instead I freaked out like a child and threw away my chance. God, I deserved to live alone with 4 cats. Lonely loser, party of one right here.

Saturday morning I was up with the sun. I went for my customary jog, which was a laughably slow pace akin to a fast walk, but since I hated the gym it would meet my fitness needs enough to not become too doughy.

Getting home I shower and do housework and by ten a.m. there isn’t anything left to take my mind off the bizarre happenings of this week. I haven’t called Maris about the intense exchange by the peaches. I dread the thought of disappointing her. I disappointed myself. I flop onto my sofa with an ache in my chest. All my moaning and weeping over being single and overlooked, but the minute someone expresses interest I sabotage myself and scurry off with my tail tucked between my legs. Scared to be alone forever, but too scared to make a move. I drop my head into my hands; trying to think of what to do.

Move on. I can't dwell on mistakes. But maybe I should use this as a sign that I need to get more confidence. I need to start figuring out what I want and going for it. After all, rejection can hardly hurt worse than this, the knowledge that I can't even handle flirting and might enter my 30’s in a few short years without ever being touched again. And with that soul crushing thought, I know what I'm doing today.

I'm going to buy some confidence.