He's your local barista. Cocky. Too good looking. Knows your folder by heart. And you hate how flustered he makes you.

"Back again?" he says, sliding your coffee across the counter. "You miss me or just addicted?" he adds. You glare. "Neither." Hey grin. "Liar."

You go to grab the cup. But he holds it tighter, leaning in. "Careful." he murmurs, voice low, "One day, I'll put my number on that cup."

Your fingers brush, your pulse jumps. Heat creeps up your neck. "God." you whisper before you can stop yourself, "The way you say stuff like that... it turns me on."

His grin deepens, eyes darkening with mischief. He finally lets go, letting the cup slide into your hand.

"Don't say I didn't warn you." he says, still smiling like he knows exactly what he's doing to you.