The Mocha The Bitch and The Embarrassing Novel

Where the fuck is the coffee when you need it? Why can't there ever be coffee waiting for me when I get up? Why do I have to make it or go find it? I'm too tired to do any of that. It's what I need coffee for.

Groaning, I roll over and reach for my pants. If I'm going to get anything done today, coffee will be needed. Fortunately there's a coffee shop right across the street from my apartment. It might not be a big brand name company, but their coffee doesn't suck ass. We're good.

I somehow manage to find a shirt and my shoes while still half asleep. My keys, on the other hand, aren't quite as cooperative. Takes me about ten minutes to find them, and by that point I'm about ready to give up and crawl through the window when I get back.

Luckily for me, I'm up early enough that I don't run into the landlady on my way out. As much as I like her, I don't think my coffee deprived brain could handle her. I'd probably pull some dick move and scare the crap out of her. Or she'd yell at me. Either way it wouldn't end well. Me plus coffee deprivation equals...aw, fuck if I know.

There's a slight breeze when I make it outside, but it's not cold enough to make me run back for my jacket so I keep going. Most people are already out and about and on their way to work, so the streets aren't exactly empty. Thank god the coffee shop is so close.

Inside is actually pretty warm, especially considering it's...well, you know. And I almost tell the person behind the counter to get me my usual (I frequent here a lot, if you couldn't tell), except for the fact that none of the regular workers is there. Which probably wouldn't have been so bad, but one, the drink I want doesn't exactly have...a great name. And two, who should be standing behind the counter except Mr. Sex-on-a-stick?

Good god, could this morning get any worse?

I almost just walk out of the shop, but lucky me, there's no one in line and he's taken notice that someone's walked in. The worst part is, I'm about to have a fucking heart attack (or maybe throw him down and...never mind), but he looks only the tiniest bit surprised. How's that fucking fair?

Oh, and let's not forget the fact that I have to order my gay ass drink. From him.

Sighing in defeat, I manage to force myself up to the counter. He looks like he's trying to force back one of his stupid smirks. I feel like my head's going to explode. He gives me the usual service line and I just scowl at the board behind him.

Looking back to him I reply, “You laugh and I swear to god I will blind you with a coffee straw.”

He does that curious eyebrow thing and waits patiently.

“I could kill myself for this,” I mumble before telling him. “Peppermint Dazzler.”

Who the fuck came up with that name? Because I need to find them and recruit Nyk into helping me...convince them to rename it. Then kill them.

Mr. Sex-on-a-stick looks like he's trying really hard not to laugh. I'll give him credit, if I wasn't looking for it, I probably wouldn't be able to tell.

“There are coffee straws right here,” I tell him, digging for my wallet. “There would be no witnesses.”

He chuckles as I hand him the money. “Right,” he smirks.

He's lucky he's so fucking hot, otherwise I wouldn't worry about damaging his face and smack him. “I may be a writer, but I know my way around anything that can be used as a weapon,” I mumble.

There's this long moment where he just stares at me, making me really uncomfortable. “A writer?” he sounds surprised. “Anything I might have heard of?”

Oh there's plenty, especially if he's a big reader. They're a pretty well known gay murder mystery series (long story, don't ask). Two problems though. One, I write under a pen name. I don't want all the publicity most writers do. I do it because it's fun and it pays the rent. And two, I am the not so proud author of an extremely popular erotica book.

I was in college and I lost a bet. Shut up.

I just shrug as I wait for my drink. He comes back moments later with the cup in hand, and I swear he made me do it again. That thing where my mind goes blank and I can't think. All because he replied, “Why don't you tell me about it over dinner.”

Yup. My brain died and I stared at him as he waited patiently with that stupid smirk on his face. Fuck, I can't believe he asked that with all the stupid moments I've had. What about my zombie-like stare is so attractive?

And of course, being the moron that I am, I look behind me to look for the person he's really talking to. Nope. I'm the only one in line. Turning back to him I find that his smirk has grown.

There's one other person in the shop, and I point to him and reply, “That's really Rod Serling isn't it. I really have fallen into the Twilight Zone, haven't I.”

He chuckles but doesn't say anything, still waiting for an answer. I must seriously be hallucinating. There's no way in hell he just said that. I mean come on! He's too hot to be gay! I would know. Every time I went after an even remotely attractive guy they were either straight or taken.

But he looked so serious...damn it, I couldn't say no. So I just sighed and nodded.

He smiled and handed me my drink. “Meet me at Joe's. Seven?”

All I could do was nod dumbly before I walked away.

My phone goes off halfway to the door and I answer it as I leave. “Oh my god, you have to get your ass over here this instant,” Emily rambles rather quickly.

“Why? What the fuck has you so wound up?”

“Get your ass over here and I'll tell you.”

I scowl at my cup, “How did you get home?”

“The guy I picked up drove me. No way in hell I'm driving drunk. Now get your ass over here.”

“Fine. Just let me finish my coffee.”

“Hurry the fuck up,” she replies before hanging up.

I sigh and put my phone back in my pocket as I head for Em's house. She doesn't live that far from my apartment, which I am more than grateful for at the moment. No way in fuck am I walking all over the fucking place without my coffee, which I immediately start downing.

Mmmm. Coffee.

Suddenly I don't care that my drink has a gay ass name. It's fucking delicious.

By the time I actually make it to her house, my coffee is half gone and I'm wide awake. I don't even get the chance to knock or ring the doorbell before the door swings open, Em immediately pulling me in and pushing me onto the couch in her living room.

In the kitchen I spot who I'm going to assume is the date she was talking about. He looks familiar. I think he might be one of midget-man's friends.

Em returns with a phone that's not hers. “Okay, so Grant and I got to talking last night-”

“You mean you actually managed to stop fucking long enough to have a conversation?”

She smacks my arm and I laugh before she continues. “Anyways, we got to talking last night, and being the good friend that I am, I asked about Christian. And as luck would have it, he is so totally gay,” she said smugly.

“I know,” I sighed.

“Excuse me?”

“I know he's gay. Turns out he works at that coffee shop across the street.”

“So? A lot of people work in coffee shops,” she replied, crossing her arms over her chest.

I mumble to myself before telling her, “He asked me out.”

I love Emily to death, I do. But one of the reasons I hate telling her about my love life is she turns into a complete romantic. Not that I don't lover her advice, but it scares me when she gets that way. She's not the bitch that kicks my ass into gear.

There's a long silence before she throws herself at me. “That's so great! Oh my god, when's your first date? Where are you going? What are you going to wear?”

“Em! Breathe,” I reply, pulling her off.

“Okay, questions later, I still have to show you this,” she seemed to remember. Opening up the phone she immediately went to the pictures. As she scrolls through them, I take another swig of my coffee. “You're going to love this.”

She turns the phone towards me and I damn near choke on my coffee.

When I finally manage to stop hacking up a lung, all I can manage is, “What the fuck is that?”

“That, my friend, is your new boyfriend.”

Sure enough, on the screen is a very drunk, very naked Christian. He's passed out with about a hundred different doodles lining his body and about five different alcohol bottles lying around. Obviously a drunk prank. But that is not what's drawn my attention.

Call me a fucking size queen, I do not give a shit because damn is he nice. He's not freakishly huge, which is great because there's only so much fucking room, right? But he's not exactly...average either.

Damn it, there has to be something wrong with him, because that's just not fair.

I think I pulled a face because the next think I hear is Em say, “I know right? God, you are so fucking lucky. You better get laid or I swear I will get Nyk and we will both beat the ever loving fuck out of you.”

“I hardly even know the guy, Em,” I grumble.

“Fine. But what are you going to tell him when he asks about your work.”

Another long silence. “I kinda already told him I was a writer,” I muttered.

For the longest time all she does is stare at me. “Have you told him what you write?”

“No. And I honestly wasn't planning on it.”

“So then what?”

I sigh and run a hand through my hair. “I don't know. Maybe I could get away with telling him my pen name. I mean, that book was written so long ago and under a different name. Besides, it's not like it'd be that easy to figure out, right?”

She stops to think about it for a moment and...uh...midget-man's friend comes wandering in before planting himself next to her. “Not really. Especially considering the editor you sent it to is retired. That and you never gave him your actual name. Hell, I don't even think your current editor knows. I'd still be careful though. You never know.”

“Yeah...” Thank god I used a fake name when I turned that thing in. I honestly hadn't really thought anybody would take it seriously. But sure enough, it had not only been published, it had become a big hit.

Fuck my life. With a really sharp stick.