The dude squinted at my name tag. "Augie? Interesting name. Color me intrigued. Take your time with my drink. I have all the time in the world. Gives us a chance to get to know each other better, you feel me? Maybe decide when we're meeting up later. I sounded pushy, didn't I? Sorry not sorry. I can't help myself when I see a cute guy like you."
I wanted to hide, but I focused on the coffee machine. Steam the milk, pour the shots, get ’er done. What was this dude’s deal anyway? Even on my best day, men didn’t flirt with me. And definitely didn’t try to pick me up while I was working.
Gah! Why wouldn't this customer back the hell off and wait for his coffee like everyone else? He wasn’t ugly, but he was too young and frat-bro, not enough of a Daddy type to catch my eye. Although I guess it was okay to be the object of someone's attention.
Except it also wasn't? My brain itched with questions. Mostly regarding his possible motivation. Was I being punked? Was this an elaborate ploy to embarrass the nerd? Call me cautious, but it’d happened enough times. Despite my shorter-than-average height, thanks to my wide shoulders and solid build, I was more twunk than twink. And the thick, black, geek glasses and firm, square jaw weren’t doing me any favors, either.
God, I was being so negative and emo. If my bestie Leo heard me say that shit out loud, he’d probably make me wash my mouth with soap. Seriously, though, I preferred to think of myself as a realist. I wasn’t unattractive; in fact, I was well aware of my better qualities. I even made an entire list of them, thanks to a late-night “confidence building” session with Leo. But nowhere on that list were the words hookup bait.
Frat Bro still wasn't stopping, so I took a second look. Yeah, he was cute enough with his quirky smile and old-school, overly long, Bieber-style bangs. The fringes fell over his eyes, and he did this well-practiced head flip every few seconds, as if part of his "aren't I cute" routine. Maybe I'd be more into it if I wasn't at work and studiously avoiding burning my fingers.
With two registers going, keeping up with the drinks was impossible, not to mention being the slowest barista and short-handed. Usually, I worked the counter, but Justin, our assistant manager, had put me on the coffee bar today so I would screw up. Again. Fucker was begging for an excuse to fire me. Had been ever since he found out I was gay, when his sister asked me out and I turned her down with a polite explanation. I couldn’t say whether Justin's problem was with my sexuality or his sister's hurt feelings, and I didn't really care.
Either way, I couldn’t do anything but what I was being paid for—my job. I had enough to worry about. Besides, his sister was fine. We even went to lunch and checked out guys together.
The customer's voice startled me from my thoughts. "You always this quiet, or are you having a bad day? Tell me why you look so sad, cutie. It's like you're challenging me to turn your frown upside down. In case you missed my name on the cup, I'm Rob. Ironic, since you're robbing me of my heart."
This guy. Now he was getting on my nerves. Intent on steaming the milk, I shook my head. "Just focused on my job, dude. Was there something else you needed, or am I following the instructions on the cup?" I tried to sound professional, not wanting to come off as a complete dick. A fine line, but I didn't want Rob to get the wrong idea. Or even an iota of encouragement.
"Nope, nothing special. Just enjoying the show. Damn, you're hotter than the coffee. What's with all the Band-Aids on your fingers? Those are covering some bitchin' knuckle tattoos, aren't they? I know places like this don’t let their employees show their ink. You look deep. I bet you have work with real meaning."
He leaned over the counter, making me recoil annnd accidentally hit the steam so I blasted my knuckles. Again. At least this time, the bandages somewhat protected them? Maybe? Nope. Not at all. Fucking ouch! Sucking in a breath, I tried to absorb the pain without broadcasting my burn to Rob. Setting his drink on the counter, I fumbled for a lid.
"Here you go. You're all—" Before I could finish my sentence, the glue on one of my Band-Aids gave up the ghost, falling into his coffee with a slight plop annnd revealing the gnarly blistered burn. This time, Rob recoiled. Shaking my head, I dumped it in the sink. "Sorry. I'll make you another drink real quick." At least now he was glancing around and paying less attention to me personally.
Fortunately, one of my coworkers bustled over, tying her apron as she arrived on shift. "How about I take it from here, Augie? Justin said you’re off in a few anyway?"
I was beyond relieved. “Yup. It’s all yours. I need to remake this one, though, had an accident.”
Grimacing, Steph pursed her lips as if trying not to laugh while reaching for a clean cup. “Yeah, I caught it through the kitchen window when I was clocking in. Go cover your owie. I’ll take care of the customer. What’s he having?”
I gave her Rob’s order and got the hell out. Luckily, Rob had lost all interest, standing off to the side staring at his phone.
Justin caught me outside the kitchen, blocking my exit. “Where do you think you’re going? You got six minutes left on your shift, and I want every second of it.”
Smiling hard, I swallowed my dislike and held up my fugly finger. “No worries, Justin. I was going to treat this steam burn.”
Like he wanted to puke, Justin stepped aside. “Nasty. Go back and do something about it. Nobody wants to see gore.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to cheat the company.” Keeping my finger up, I examined it closely. “Do you think it’s leaking pus? Maybe because I keep burning the burn? Steam burns don’t get gangrene, do they?”
“Blegh.” Distinctly green, Justin pushed the kitchen door open, holding it with his foot so I wouldn’t accidentally brush against him. “G-go. Put something on it. Neosporin? I dunno. Something. Clock out when you’re done.”
“Sure thing, if you say so. Thanks, Justin.” As I made my escape, not smiling was difficult. If it was anyone else, I’d probably feel bad. But Justin was a royal douchecanoe, riding my ass all day about every little thing. Grossing him out was a minor victory, but I’d take it.
Leo was already waiting by my car when I got outside, staring at his phone and oblivious to the world around him. My car wasn't new enough to start remotely, but I could unlock the doors with my key fob. When the locks popped, Leo didn't glance up; he simply got in the car and waited.
Even when I joined him, he was completely obsessed with typing. Shaking my head, I started the car—only to be blasted with holiday music. Bad enough hearing it all day at work. I wasn’t putting up with it inside my own vehicle. A man had rights, dammit.
Jabbing a finger at the stereo, I changed the station. Or tried to. Every button I hit took me to another one playing the same songs. "What the hell is this shit? Did you change my presets again, Leo?" I grumbled a few choice words under my breath, turning the stereo off altogether.
"Duh. Now stop pouting before Santa fills your stocking with coal. Gawd, Rome. How are you already being anti-Christmas when it's not even Thanksgiving yet? This is why you need a Daddy. A firm hand to spank the Grinch out of you would do all of us a favor." Leo favored me with a pitying frown. "Luckily for you, I have a solution to your problem."
I was both intrigued and scared. "No, you want someone to spank you. I only want to be cuddled. And as for the whole Christmas thing, you had it correct. It's not even Thanksgiving yet. Everyone is playing carols, there's decorations everywhere, and… and… dammit, it's too soon! Can we maybe get through Turkey Day first?"
Leo snorted, rolling his eyes so hard it had to hurt. "Like your attitude is going to be any better next weekend. What did Christmas do to make you hate it so much?"
"Don't get me started. I have a right to my inherent dislike of all things red and green. I don't begrudge your desire to deck the halls and jingle your bells, do I? And you have to admit I'm pleasant company on the big day. But I don't need the world vomiting holly-jolly shit everywhere I go. It's not enough for people to celebrate themselves—they have to shove it down everyone else's throats while they're at it. How does being so obnoxious make your celebration better? Even the local dry cleaners paint Santa on their windows. What the hell does a dry cleaner have to do with Christmas? I don't get it, and I never will.”
Leo stared at me in mute horror. Cheeks heated, I shrugged. I might have ranted a teensy bit too hard when the season had barely started. Perhaps a change of subject was in order. “Sorry, bad day. Moving on, what's got you so fascinated with your phone? Did one of the Kardashians have a nip-slip on Twitter?"
"Twitter? Are you the one still on there? Huh, I wondered.” Leo gazed back down at his phone, muttering loud enough for me to hear. “Dude. I can't with you sometimes. I simply can't. Clearly, we need a night to bring you up to date with social media. Get you on Insta maybe. Shoot, TikTok will blow your mind."
Shaking his head, Leo huffed his irritation. At what, I wasn't quite certain. But then, I rarely was with Leo. He spoke English, I think, but it always seemed like we were using different languages. Pulling up to a red light, I waited until I was totally stopped to grab his phone.
"Eep! Take my life, kill me now, but don’t hurt my phone! Omigosh, my entire life is on there, Rome!" Leo's high-pitched squeak threatened to pop my eardrum as he grabbed for his precious.
I held it out of reach, to the left of the steering wheel. "Calm down. I'm not gonna throw it out the window. What? Are you afraid I'll see what you're doing? Now I'm even more curious."
"Fine." Huffing again, Leo wriggled his fingers dismissively. "I’m on the Cuffd app. Remember the fun ‘letters to Santa’ thing they did last year?"
"I'm not sure I recall it being entertaining, especially since I didn't get any decent responses after you made me write one." To be fair, I hadn't given any of the messages a fair shake. After going to one interview after another and discovering my art degree wasn't worth the paper it was printed on, I wasn't in a good headspace the previous Christmas. Maybe if I'd had time or connections for good internships, but whatever. I was over it.
"Rome, did you read the email I sent you this morning?"
Passing his phone back, I tried not to shudder. "Your horoscope shit? I think we both know I didn’t even open it. I'm not sure why you persist in sending them to me, but you do it out of love, so I’ll shut up."
Patting my leg, Leo nodded to show me the light had changed. "I do love you. Very much. And even if you don't believe in anything you can't see, it's okay because I have enough faith for both of us. Anyway, I have good news! Your chart is amazeballs for the rest of the year. Nothing but good luck and happiness are coming your way. And then I saw the letters to Santa were back on the app and got super excited. But wait… there's more!"
He spoke like a TV announcer, making me snort laugh. "More, you say? Please, tell me everything. I'm dying to hear it."
Completely ignoring the sarcasm, Leo clapped his hands. "You should be because this is perfect for you! This time, the Daddies write the letters to Santa! You can be as picky as you want since you’re doing the picking! And we both know you are sooo… hmm. Let’s go with selective. But yeah. It’s perfect for you."
I didn't understand his glee. "Not to be the one who's always pissing in your cornflakes, but don't you think the idea sounds bass-ackward? Santa is supposed to answer Christmas wishes for boys and girls. Not Mommies and Daddies. I'm sorry, but I'm not sure I approve."
"Of course you don't. I'd be disappointed if you did. At least, right away. Have no fear. I'll talk you around." He blew me a kiss, along with a sassy wink. "Think about it. If you found a Daddy, you could let him take care of you and stop working so much. Then we can hang out more and… and… well, and everything."
"Sounds like a nice idea for a boy like you, but I'm not on board with that, Leo. Getting a Daddy, sure. I don’t need coddling. Although having someone handle larger details would be nice, I suppose. And I'd love having someone hold me at night and make me breakfast in the morning before a long day. But that's a fantasy. Besides, I do fine all by myself."
"Riiight. Remind me again where you will be living on Christmas Day?" Leo's dry tone and accompanying smirk made me want to smack something.
"Um… In my apartment?" I didn't have to move out until New Year's Eve, thank you very much. "And don't give me crap about not having a place yet. I only found out yesterday, remember?"
One of my roommates, Philip, held the lease on our apartment. After his girlfriend called her dad to tell him Philip proposed, her dad immediately offered him a job at his car dealership back in Michigan. Since Phil was jumping at the opportunity, he was giving our thirty-day notice on our apartment on the first of December. Not great for me, but I didn't blame him. And once I got resettled, I was certain I'd be happy for the lovebirds. Until then, I'd do my best to fake it.
Heaving a dramatic sigh, Leo slowly shook his head as if he didn't know what to do with me. "Rome, you talk tough, but I'm not fooled. We boys have to watch out for ourselves and each other. A scared little boy inside you needs a Daddy to comfort him and let him know everything's gonna be fine. Cuffd is giving you the perfect opportunity to find him."
I started to say something flip, then thought better of it. Leo was correct, and he damn well knew it. And if I could be vulnerable with one person on the planet, it was my best friend. "What if they don't like me? When we go clubbing, Daddies look past me. At the last mixer, they kept trying to give me their drink orders like I was staff."
Humming softly, Leo patted my leg again. "An unfortunate wardrobe error, sweetie. Your outfit was too close, although I'm pretty sure someone did warn you of the danger of wearing a plain white button-up and black slacks with a matching vest. Seriously, Roman. What was with the vest?"
"So you said at the time. And approximately nine hundred and fifty-seven times since that fateful night. I thought it looked dapper with my new glasses. And my shiny dress shoes were nothing like the staff’s."
"Yes, because the first thing a prospective Daddy inspects is your shoes." Rolling his eyes, Leo snorted at our old argument. "So here's the thing, Rome. You're doing this. I don't want to hear about last Christmas. I don't want to hear about the Daddies you woulda-coulda-shoulda had and didn't. It's a new day, and your horoscope promises nothing but good things on the horizon."
