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Today’s the day. Shane is going to do it. He’s going to give his number to a hot stranger and it’s going to be fine.
Well. He’s not a complete stranger. He knows the man’s name – Ilya. He knows that he lives in the neighborhood and he stops in first thing in the morning on odd days, with no rhyme or reason to when he’s going to show up. Sometimes he’s in a well tailored suit that pulls across his broad chest, other times he’s in athletic gear and obviously sweaty from a run, or a gym session. Shane’s favorite is when he’s in worn-in jeans and soft t-shirts, morning rumpled and obviously in desperate need of coffee.
Today it’s the latter, and the door dings as Ilya steps in, the bright morning sun catching his golden curls. He sweeps in on a cool autumn breeze and gives Shane an easy smile as he leans against the counter and scans the menu as if he isn’t here at least three mornings a week. Shane’s breath leaves him at how casual Ilya looks today – he’s wearing a plain black t-shirt and a well loved leather jacket, and his bright eyes meet Shane’s, finally done scanning the menu.
“Is the french toast latte very sweet?” His Russian accent sends a thrill through Shane like it always does, and Shane wants to melt into him. Shane clears his throat and straightens up, worried his swooning is too obvious.
With a shake of his head Shane gestures. “It’s not too sweet, it’s maple syrup and cinnamon,” Shane informs him. He points to another item on the menu, and Ilya’s eyes follow the tip of his finger. “Now, the s’mores latte – that’s more up your alley, I think,” Shane offers. Ilya always takes his coffee sweet, whether it’s syrups in lattes or sugar packets in hot coffee. Not that Shane’s noticed. He’s definitely not noticed the way Ilya’s big, deft hands open those little sugar packets at the creamer station, how he carefully stirs his coffee and tastes it, the way his eyes close and his lips tilt up in a contented little smile with the first sip – ok. So Shane has noticed. And he’s in way too deep.
That’s why he just needs to give this guy his number, damn it.
Ilya nods and shoves his hand into his pocket, fishing out his wallet. “I will have that, then, for here,” he says with a smooth grin, hazel eyes meeting Shane’s dark ones purposefully, almost as if he’s daring Shane to do it, provoking him into giving up his number.
The smile he gives Ilya is weak as he rings up his order. Ilya taps his card and the machine beeps as the payment goes through. They hesitate for a moment, Ilya looking curiously at Shane, Shane blushing and wiping invisible specks off of the counter. Ilya clears his throat and Shane looks up, meets that dazzling smile head on and almost swoons.
“I will wait –” He points, and Shane nods, dumbly, unable to conjure up any words. Once Ilya’s gone to stand at the other end of the counter Shane lets out his breath and rubs a hand over his face, chastened.
“Did you do it?” Rose, his co-worker and comrade behind the coffee bar today, hisses as Hayden, their third musketeer, starts making Ilya’s drink. The day is lulling, and Shane knows one of them should probably go home, but he likes hanging out with his friends at work.
“I chickened out,” Shane grumbles as he crosses his arms over his aproned chest and looks longingly back towards Ilya. He’s completely immersed in his phone, and Shane watches as emotions flicker across his face as he thumbs at the phone screen. “He’s too hot, it’s absolutely unfair,” Shane groans. He turns and starts wiping down the counters for something to do, and Rose follows him, her own arms crossing over her chest.
“You’ve gotta do it today, Hollander. You’ve been pining for this man for so long. Just buck up and write your number on his cup like a normal smitten barista would!”
She has a point – but Shane doesn’t want to be just another smitten barista. Besides – “He ordered the coffee for here, so I can’t write on the cup.”
Rose glares at him and rolls her eyes. “You’re useless,” she says as she goes back to wiping down syrup bottles. Hayden hands over Ilya’s latte and Shane watches as Ilya goes and takes a seat at the front window. He takes a sip of the coffee and savors it, then looks back and catches Shane’s eye. A wicked grin spreads across his lips, like he’d just heard the whole conversation and was taunting Shane.
“Oh my god, just go do it!” Rose whisper-shrieks, and Shane bites on his lip, steals his will, and nods.
“Yeah, ok, I’ll be right back.”
“Go get em, bud!” Hayden cheers as he cleans up the espresso machine, and Rose pumps her fist.
Shane ambles over to Ilya, who’s turned back to the window and is watching the leaves blow across the pavement. He’s framed in the golden morning glow and he looks intimidatingly gorgeous, but Shane refuses to be deterred.
“Uhm, is this seat taken?” Shane asks, his voice halting and starting over the words.
Ilya doesn’t turn to him, he just shrugs. “Depends.”
With a small look of confusion, Shane rests his hands on the back of the seat and leans against it. “On what?” He asks, curious if Ilya is waiting on a date.
“Are you finally going to ask me for my number?” Ilya finally turns to look at him, and his lips are pulled up into a smirk, triumphant that he’s caught Shane.
That’s all it takes – Shane’s cheeks flush a brilliant crimson, and he can feel the heat radiating off of them. “I, uhh… yes?” Oh my god, he was fucking this up so royally.
“Then yes, you may join me.” Ilya gestures, and Shane takes the seat, flops into it, really.
“I… why didn’t you just ask for my number?” Shane asks indignantly as he looks over at Ilya.
“I like to watch you squirm,” He teases, his nose wrinkling slightly as he sips his coffee. “You are cute when you are on the spot.”
“Oh my god,” Shane wants to melt from the embarrassment. But he can’t miss the fact that Ilya said he was cute. That had to count for something.
“I would like to take you out. Give me your phone and I will put my number in.” Shane hands his phone over with a contact card pulled up, then immediately sends Ilya a text. Ilya grins at the notification and glances back over to Shane, his smile triumphant.
“Are you free tonight?” Ilya asks, head cocking to the side.
With his lower lip between his teeth, Shane nods.
“Good. Is a date.”