The Mocha The Bitch and The Embarrassing Novel

I spend most of the afternoon trying to figure out what I'm going to tell him when he asks me what I write. I mean, what's the worst that could happen if I told him? He'd tell his friends? I wouldn't exactly be happy about it, but at least they won't know about the other book.

After hours of debating and about twenty calls from Em, it's decided that I tell him what I do. God this night is going to be hell on my mental health, because the next thing I know, I'm freaking out about what to wear.

Mentally smacking myself, I pick up the phone and text Nyk to be ready with the shotgun when he gets back.

Finally just throwing on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, I grab my jacket, keys, and wallet before heading out. It's about six-thirty by the time I walk out the door, and thankfully Joe's isn't all that far off.

Yes, I own a car. But I figure if I can walk there, why waste the gas? Plus this way I'm less likely to get fat. God knows I would with all the crap I eat, and that the last thing I need. I'm not ugly, but fat would not do me good.

And don't make a big scene about the word fat. If you're fat, be fucking proud of it. You like to eat. You're not a stick that's going to break in half in the middle of sex. It's a good thing. If you're so big you can't move however...that might be a problem.

I'm jerked out of my thoughts by the huge line outside of Joe's. What the fuck? This place is always empty. Where did all these people come from?

Scowling, I scan the crowd for Mr. Sex-on-a-stick (yes I know his name, this just seems more appropriate). When I don't see him in the mob hell bent on keeping people from eating, I scan inside the restaurant.

Finally managing to spot him in a booth by the window, I brace myself against the crowd, having to shove more than a few people out of the way. There's a lot of yelling, especially at me as I push past. It wouldn't be a problem if you'd just move two feet assholes. Or oh, I don't know, formed a line? Ever think that might help?

The waitress at the front gives me a funny look as I tell her I'm meeting someone inside. When I point out the table, she gets this look. The same one I probably pulled when I first met him (he needs to learn to stop doing that. He'll turn everybody stupid).

Turning back to me she smiles and leads the way. I don't know why, I can see the table, pretty sure it wouldn't be that difficult to navigate to it. Motioning to the seat (like I can't see it) she hands me a menu.

I thank her before turning to my...date. “What happened to you?”

Looking down, I find my clothes completely messed up and I just scowl. “There's an angry mob outside. Not sure exactly what they want, but they seemed pretty adamant about my not eating.”

He just smirks before leaning back to look at his menu. Frowning, I follow suit. I haven't been here in a while. Again, it's that whole book thing. It prevents me from doing a lot. Now that I think about it...it prevents me from having a life. That can't be healthy.

After both of us order he turns back to me, “So tell me about this whole author thing.”

“Don't beat around the bush,” I reply. “Tell me what you really want to know.”

He chuckles, “Do your nipples get hard when you sneeze?”

I stare at him for a long moment before I burst out laughing. When I regain some semblance of control I respond with, “Mine do. I could put an eye out. Yours?”

He smirks. “Like little diamonds.”

“I can honestly say I've never met anyone else that's seen that show.”

He shakes his head. “Such a waste of a good television show.”

I nod in agreement.

He just smiles, still watching me. “So, this author thing.”

I sigh and lean back in my seat before replying. “Long story short, I lost a bet, wrote a book, got it published, and things went from there.”

Humming thoughtfully he says, “I don't recall seeing your name around.”

“That's because I don't write under my name.”

He quirks a brow.

“Ever hear of Nykolas Grimm?” I whisper.

I feel like I should get an award because I swear I just made him blanch. There's this long pause before he finally starts, “You're Ny-”

Clamping my hand over his mouth I reply, “Yes. But just in case you missed the memo, I have a pen name for a reason.”

That sentence was a lot harder to get out than it should have been...probably because I was more focused on the feel of his lips against my hand. Which of course led to thoughts of that mouth elsewhere...leading to that picture Em showed me earlier.

Fuck. I don't think I'll get out of here without a boner.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, removing my hand. “I just...That has to be one of my favorite series. I'd always wondered what the author was like to be able to write something like that.”

“A sarcastic bastard,” I replied.

“But entertaining nonetheless,” he smirks.

“Good to know I can entertain someone.”

Surprisingly enough, conversation was plentiful and never really awkward. Turns out we had a lot in common. Now I'm waiting for the monster in the closet to pop out and eat me now. I know it's there, I'm just not sure...how big the monster is. Or how much baggage it's carrying for that matter.

But that will come later I suppose.

On the bright side we both like foreign films. And I swear I could kiss him for knowing who some of these actors are. Like Takeshi Kaneshiro, who has to be one of the hottest Japanese guys on the planet.

Fortunately he agrees.

By the end of dinner we've had a couple beers, numbers have been exchanged, some really good food and some even better conversation have been had. He insists on paying which just isn't fucking fair because my food cost more. I know he asked me out but come on. Can't we play on equal grounds here?

When we finally walk out of the restaurant, the mob is gone (which I am more than grateful for. I don't need any more people trying to suffocate me), and he insists on walking me home. I'm not a retarded fifteen year old girl. Seriously. They can be pretty damn stupid.

But the company is nice so I can't really complain. Okay, yes I can. And I hope to god that he doesn't notice the not so subtle bulge in the front of my pants. That could get really awkward really fast. Unless great minds really do think alike and he'd be willing to run back and help me solve this...not so little problem.

A guy can dream right?

Most of the trip consists of my stupid, drunk laughter, him smiling beside me. And thankfully he really doesn't seem to notice my problem, which means tonight's been damn near perfect so far.

Arriving back to my apartment, he pulls me to a stop outside. I'm about to tell him I don't put out on the first date (cough lie cough) when his lips press against mine.

Good god I could die happy.

They're perfect just like every other fucking thing about him. So soft and warm. I think I moaned before pulling him closer, but I can't be sure. You know what, it doesn't fucking matter because damn the man can kiss. And he tastes fucking delicious.

His hands come down to rest on my hips, pulling me closer and fuck me he's hard too.

Somewhere between forever and not long enough he pulls away. Fuck, I think I almost whined at the loss of contact. Where's Nyk when you need him?

And being the hot bastard he is he's smirking. “I had fun.”

Asshole. My brain needs to restart and he's already expecting me to converse. “Yeah.”

He chuckles before placing a chaste kiss against my lips. “I'll call you,” he replied, before slowly walking away.

I watch for a moment before finally making myself open the door to the complex. Looks like it's just you and me tonight, Mr. Right.