See Her (Turn it Up #1)

Chapter 1

1

MAYZIE

“ O h my God, another one. You blew off another one.” Annie’s voice comes through the phone in a hopeless drone from the back of her throat.

“I… had work to get done,” I spout off in a pointless attempt to defend my position. Annie’s never bought my shit, and this isn’t even good shit. It’s the lamest, most overused excuse in the book.But the work thing is kind of true, hence why I’m sitting here in Henderson’s, the hipster coffee shop/record store with my laptop open to my latest copywriting job.

“What am I going to do with you?” She draws each word out with an exasperated groan, ignoring my pitiful excuse. “You’re going to grow old alone and be a crazy cat lady.”

“Excuse me, I keep company with a ninety-pound Rottweiler. Not even close,” I rebuff her bleak prediction. “Besides, I’m only twenty-four. I think I have at least another ten years before I reach spinster status or something.”

I hear her begin to shuffle things around on her end, and I can tell she’s messing with her camera bag.

“You have not been laid in-”

“How the hell do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been laid?” I cut her off with a frown that I make sure she can hear in my voice.

“Really?” She draws the word out sardonically, because it actually is a stupid question. Annie’s my best friend, and I mean the attached at the hip, cosmic ESP connection, up each other’s ass kind of best friend. She knows.

“Fine,” I grumble, and pop a piece of apple bran muffin in my mouth.

“Anyway, you haven’t been laid in ten months,” she states, the sharp zip of her bag in the background echoing down the phone line.

“That’s harsh,” I mumble as the bell over the main door gives a welcoming jingle to a new patron.

“It’s true. You haven’t been with anyone since that fuckwad, Eric, played you like a cheap kazoo and fucked you over.”

“Thank you for that reminder.”

“You’re welcome. Anyway, the fact that he’s the last person you’ve been with is bad juju or something. You need to get back out there, and you’re not even trying.”

She’s got me there.

“So, what was wrong with this one?” I can hear her rolling her eyes.

“Besides the fact that he suggested dinner in the form of samples at Costco as a date?”

A pause follows on her end before a monotone “You’re shitting me.”

“It’s the whole app, honestly,” I continue forth when that revelation is met with a despondent scoff. “The majority of these guys aren’t even serious.”

“Tell me about it,” she agrees. “With all the dick pics I’ve gotten, I don’t know why these winners bother using their faces as their profile pictures.”

A laugh bubbles out of my chest, and I can’t control it. It bursts from between my lips and I try to contain it before I draw too much attention to myself, but this bitch won’t stop .

“Seriously, since these guys like to show their wangs so much, they should just post that as their profile pic and women can go man shopping according to penis aesthetic.”

My stomach muscles are constricting to a painful extent, and tears are forming at the corners of my eyes in my efforts to not make a scene.

“And when they show up to a date, they have to drop their pants to prove you’re not being phished.”

“Do you mind? I’m in public!” I squeak out between belly laughs. I can feel my cheeks turning pink.

“Calm down, Mayzie,” my horrible best friend cynically chides in my ear. “Don’t make a testicle of yourself.”

“Stop!” I run a hand through my hair, trying so hard to compose myself, and of course, that’s when I look up and see who’s come into the café.

My spurts of laughter are stifled in my stomach when my world tilts and shifts sideways at the sight in front of me.

He has long, sandy brown bangs hanging in straight, silky strands that he tosses out of his eyes, but it’s the warm, amused smile aimed in my direction that sends a pang up my spine.

Oh my God, he heard my obnoxious laugh and he thinks I’m ridiculous.

The thought seems to do the trick for squashing my laughing fit, and I nervously clear my throat. Annie babbles on in my ear as I take in the rest of what I just blew it with.

I’ve never seen a guy like this before, at least not in real life, and a certain essence seems to drift off him and breeze over to me.

From the way he stands at the counter, I can tell he’s laid back and confident just from the way he carries his tall frame – straight but with his shoulders relaxed.He casually looks around while he waits for his order, and my eyes are drawn to the way he’s lightly drumming his knuckles on the counter in perfect time with the beat of the mellow background music. It seems so natural that he doesn’t even appear aware he’s doing it. It’s endearing. It makes me inwardly smile to myself.

He has a swimmer’s body, with lean arms that are toned and muscular. Tattoos peek out from under the short-sleeved black button-down he’s wearing open over a black tank top which shows the top of another tattoo on his chest, accented by a cross hanging from a silver chain. My attention is then drawn to his dark, worn jeans as he reaches in his back pocket for his wallet (my inner idiot is biting her fist right now).

My eyes definitely like what they see. He has a bad boy look to him, and it’s almost intimidating.But when he picks up his coffee, he gives the barista a friendly nod and a faint smile, revealing that same dimple again.

Well damn if that doesn’t give my insides the slightest little glow.He seems so cool, yet there’s a warmth about him. He hasn’t uttered a word to me, yet I can feel myself blushing. It’s a good feeling, and it makes me wonder what it would be like to know someone like him;if I’d get that feeling from them all the time.

As he steps away from the counter, he turns his back, walking in the direction of a few empty tables, taking a quick glance at me over his shoulder and giving me a quick lift of his eyebrows.

“Hellloooo?” Annie shrills in my ear.

Oh my God, I just had a mini stroke or left my body for a second, because I startle, remembering I’m on the phone with her.

“Sorry, say that again?” I ask, forcing myself to look away from the tatted fantasy man.

“I said, forget the app and meet someone in the real world.”

“Ha-ha.” I roll my eyes because she forgets my confidence doesn’t exactly match hers.

“I’m serious, you can do it,” she says around a bagel or whatever she’s just shoved in her mouth. “You’ve worked really hard and come a long way since that limp-dick-assface, and I’m very proud of you.”

“Yay.”

“In fact, do it today. Talk to somebody! No, wait, not somebody , because I know you too well. You’ll say hi to a girl and comment on her hair and clothes or some other small talk bullshit and you’ll tell me you did talk to somebody… so I’m gonna specify that you talk to a guy, and not just any guy – a hot guy somewhere in a dateable age range, and not a geriatric whose idea of a hot date is bingo at the local senior center. Oh no, young grasshopper, the guy must be grade A prime. And don’t even think of lying to me, because I can tell when you do.”

“Oh my God, come on!” I protest like an insolent teenager. “That’s not fair! I never know what to say to anybody at random, let alone a tall and toned, tatted, handsomely edgy man, and you know that!”

“That’s oddly specific.”

Shit.

“Or whatever aesthetically pleasing human the universe would present.”

“Do it, and I’ll leave you alone.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Okay, fine, you’re right. Do it just to show me you’ve got some guts, then.”

“I have no guts, and I own that shit. Try again.”

“Do it so you can say you did when I nag you about it later. And sneak a picture, if at all possible, you know, just for posterity and all that crap.”

This could go on for days if I let it.

“I gotta get back to work,” I say instead.

I just make out her uttering the word loser as I disconnect, and sneak another look at the handsome stranger.

He’s found a seat by the window, having no idea what he’s done to me by simply moseying into the place with the confident yet casual way he carries himself.It’s like he already knows who he is and is comfortable and at ease with that; something I wonder if I’ll ever have.

My gaze darts back to my laptop and I stare at my screen without actually typing for a few minutes, my only focus being to not gawk at the stranger who has hooked my attention and will not let go.

Okay, fine, I peeked, and now he’s flipping through his magazine while keeping a hand on his coffee mug, and now I need to get back to my intense staring at my computer screen. This summary of why Hunk ‘o’ Rubber Tires is the best isn’t going to write itself and pay me.

I get to work and the words start flowing, but I can’t help but give an occasional look up at the man by the window.

He looks dangerous but sweet, and one of the fifty times I look up, he lifts his head to look out the window, but he doesn’t seem to actually focus on anything outside. It’s as if he’s just giving his mind a moment to wander, and I find myself wondering where it goes. After a moment, his head turns back down to the paper, and he once again seems content in his own company.

Something in my chest starts to hum. Maybe I’m envious of the self-certainty he displays. Maybe it’s just a chemical reaction, but I’m definitely feeling something; a desire to be near him, to hear his voice, to find out what he smells like.It’s like I can see his energy coming off of him in waves, and they float over to me before grabbing onto me and pulling.

My first inclination is to hide over here behind my laptop, sneaking looks at him until he leaves so I can get on with my freaking life.

But when I try to go back to my work, I’m stunned by a sudden realization.

I don’t want to not see him again.

I don’t want him to leave and go back to his life without taking a small chance on meeting him.

Before I can even think about what I’m doing, I’m standing .

Oh my God, I must be insane. This is all Annie’s fault for calling me on my gutlessness and putting ideas into my head!

I’m standing here awkwardly for seemingly no reason, and I have to push myself to step forward before someone thinks I’m having some kind of episode.

I suck some imaginary courage into my lungs and walk over to his table.

“Hi,” I say. OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod what am I doing?! He looks up at me, so I finally get a look at the part of him I hadn’t yet seen. He has large eyes that are such a dark blue they could probably be mistaken for brown at a distance.His expression is one of surprise that immediately shifts to interest.

“Hi,” he returns, his dusky blues meeting my eyes and holding on, and for a moment, I forget how nervous I am. I can’t help what those eyes make me do. I smile naturally at him.

On top of everything else, he has sharp and rugged facial features, including a strong jaw, but his eyes are kind. He looks at me expectantly with his eyebrows raised, the edges of his mouth seeming to be trying to decide if he wants to smile back or find out why I’m here first.

“Are you done with your sugar?” I ask.

Wow, smooth. I should be a columnist for how to hit on guys. Freaking Annie and her ‘talk to a hot guy’ bullshit. I’m going to kill her.

He looks confused for a few seconds before offering me a real, full-on smile as he reaches for his sugar canister and hands it to me.

“Oh… yeah. Here.”

“Thanks,” I say, taking him in for just one more beat before walking back to my table.I grit my teeth and curse myself and my stupidity the whole way, squeezing the canister like it’s done me some huge injustice and I want to strangle it.Basically, I pretend it’s Annie.I chance another look at him when I sit down.His eyes are cast back down to his paper, but then come back up to meet mine.I quickly look back down at my coffee, proceeding to dump about half a cup of sugar into it.What? I love coffee just fine – once I sweeten the ever-loving shit out of it.I look back up to see an amused smirk on his face.I feel my chest flush red as I put the canister down.I know how bizarre that must look to him, so I offer him a quirky smile and a shrug as he stares, like he’s waiting for me to take a sip of my over-sugared concoction to see if I immediately drop into a diabetic stupor.I take a sip of my drink, concentrating hard on showing him that it doesn’t faze me.I set it down and look up one last time to see him press his lips together in a smile and look back down at his magazine. I heave a sigh, lamenting my no-game self and go back to working on my laptop, doing my best not to look up at him again.

Amazingly, I find my focus again, adding a lot of substantial product to my work, although I must admit it’s hard not to look for the handsome stranger in my peripheral.From what I can tell, he continues to read, but I think I see him (maybe?) look up once or twice.I will not allow myself the satisfaction of looking up to see for sure.

Thirty minutes later, my paper is finally complete. I read it over and submit it with a huge feeling of relief. As I’m packing up, I decide to chance one more look at the gorgeous guy as I sling my laptop bag on to my shoulder, along with my handbag.

Then I look up to see an empty table.

Bummer.

Well that’s how my universe works, and probably why I don’t take chances that often – they don’t ever seem to pay off, thus my reason for the countless times I’ve settled.

As I weave myself through the tables to the door, I try to console myself.

I approached him, I let him know I existed, and that’s a huge thing for me.If something were to come of that, it would’ve , I reason with myself.I’m determined not to overanalyze or dissect the interaction to death. It’s self-sabotage. I let out a long breath and head for the door .

Passing through the door, I emerge out to the street, and almost slam right into the exact same tattooed, lean wall of muscle I’d been drooling over only moments before. The guy.You know, the one I was just depressed over seconds ago.The one I was going to think about tonight while I shoveled a pint of Breyers into my trap.Surprised? Yeah, me too.

“Oh my God,” I exclaim, catching a delectable scent of leather, musk, and man, before I back up slightly and look up to regard him. “I’m sorry.” The words seep out on a breath from my lips. Why do I feel so warm all of a sudden? Because his deceptively gentle hands are on my arms. This is just too surreal.

“Hi.” He lets out on a breath as he hesitantly removes his hands, satisfied that I’m not going to fall on my ass.His eyebrows are up, almost in a question.

“Hi,” I say back.He stares for a minute and then looks to both sides like someone will materialize out of nowhere and tell him what to say next.It’s adorable – and sexy, if I’m being honest.That a guy that looks and carries himself the way he does, seems nervous? Swoon.

“I can’t actually think of anything intelligent to say. I just wanted to talk to you. Again,” he finishes with a smile that looks self-deprecating.

Say what now? This can’t be right, but there’s no way I’m not going with it. I let out a big exhale as I briefly look away and then back to meet his eyes. Here goes nothing.

“I’d like that, too.”

His smile changes to one of relief and he lets out a soft chuckle.I like that he’s confident in himself, and yet is okay with showing me that he’s feeling awkward in this moment.He’s humble.

I am so screwed.