Maybe I need more than just a coffee

“Get on,” he requests as I give him an incredulous look.

“I think I’ll take a taxi instead,” I respond, unsure of how to take his proposal.

“Well, you could do that, but you’ll miss out on a great ride and have to wait outside until I arrive,” he retorts, gesturing again to the space in front of him on his bike.

I gather the necessary courage and with a leap, position myself between his legs. He grips the handlebars with both hands and begins to pedal slowly. I look straight ahead, trying to avoid letting the sensation of his thighs brushing against me and the sight of his tattooed forearms steal the little sanity I have left. My willpower does not last long and I let myself be carried away by his touches, by the veins that pop in his arms as he applies the brakes, and the almost heavenly scent he emits.

His chest presses against my back and I turn my head to see him, only to be met with his smiling face. Damn it, I want more than just a coffee.

“I’m sorry, we’re going uphill,” he clarifies as a growing blush makes my face feel hot.

Soon, his body separates from mine, but the cool wind fails to drive away that unbearable heat sensation, and I can’t help but wish that we’ll be going uphill the entire way.

“Are you okay?” he inquires after a while of riding.

“Yes! In fucking paradise,” I answer mentally.

“Yes,” I say, keeping the rest to myself.

҉

“Before I let you in my house, I want to know your name,” he says, getting off his bike and searching for the right key.

I spent the whole ride getting hot and bothered over a man who doesn’t even know my name, what the hell is wrong with me?

“I’m Emma,” I reply, feeling foolish.

“Pleasure to meet you, Emma,” he responds, opening the door and bringing the bike inside.

He leaves it to the side and gestures for me to come in, which I do, taking one last look at the spot where we met before closing the door.

“Here you go, I hope everything’s in order,” he says, handing me my bag.

I open it and the first thing I look for is the orange perfume, which is still intact, waiting to be reunited with its siblings.

“Everything’s perfect,” I assure him, closing the bag.

I look around the room, taking in every detail. The memory of waking up on his couch, disoriented and feeling unsafe, comes back to me, making me search for the exit with my eyes.

“You can sit down if you like, running away is also a good option,” he comments, realizing what I’m looking at, “although you’d be missing out on a good cup of coffee,” he adds, softening the cruelty of his joke.

“I would never turn down a good cup of coffee,” I reply, holding onto my bag and sitting where I was lying the night before.

“Perfect, do you mind if I leave you alone for a moment? I’ll go prepare things, take a quick shower, and come back with everything ready.”

“No, not at all, I’ll wait here,” I reply with a smile that he immediately returns.

After a slight nod, he leaves. Time alone passes slower than usual, and I begin to walk around the room, looking closely at the photos on the few pieces of furniture that decorate the room.

I see him hugging a beautiful woman - perhaps his wife? He doesn’t have a ring, but that doesn’t guarantee anything these days. The same woman appears in other photos where the group is larger, and they all look very happy together.

“Did you see anything interesting?” he asks, surprising me and making me let out a small scream. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he adds in a softer tone.

“No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been prying,” I apologize, returning to my seat.

“Don’t worry about it, curiosity is a very human thing. Trust me, if I had a little more time, I would have taken a peek in your bag,” he assures me, buttoning up the sleeves of his white shirt as if it’s no big deal.

I finally take the time to observe him completely as he heads towards the kitchen, perhaps he’s a little bigger than me, but what he has, he has in very good condition. I follow him closely and watch as he skillfully maneuvers a coffee maker, the aroma that begins to fill the room is more than tempting.

His hair is still dripping water and I can’t help but feel envious of those droplets that slide down his neck so softly.

“Sweet or bitter?” he asks as if my life depends on it.

“Who in their right mind would ruin a coffee that smells so good with sugar?” I reply, leaning on the door frame.

“Believe me, those people have their own circle in hell.”

He puts everything he needs on a breakfast tray and we return to the room where the sofas are. After the first few sips in silence and under his watchful gaze, I allow myself to ask him something that has been on my mind for a while:

“Why didn’t you call the police last night and instead came to my defense?”

“The police take too long, believe me, I know from the worst experience,” he replies. He gets up, retrieves the photo of him with the woman and hands it to me so I can examine it in detail. “She is, or was, my twin sister. One day, she went out for drinks with some friends, met a guy who was cute enough to go home with, and then... The neighbors heard her screams, but no one did anything, waiting for someone else to respond to their pleas for help; and when they no longer heard her, they simply went to sleep. It wasn’t until the next day that they realized their mistake. I wasn’t going to ignore your desperate call, waiting for someone else to react,” he concludes, taking the photo back and putting it back in its place.