Context: Jared's just turned up at Barista Boys...
“I hope you don’t mind? Me dropping in like this, I mean?”
“No, of course not. Why would I?” I’ve been waiting for you all day.
“It’s your place of work, but I was doing some shopping close by.” Jared nodded down at the department store bags he carried. “This is really, really nice.” Jared looked around, and Bernie did too.
The rough brick walls were covered in posters and prints, and shelves held books and magazines. Flyers lay around advertising gay-themed film festivals, shows and cabarets, and there was a blackboard, small but prominently placed, with the chalked up telephone numbers and websites for LGBTQ advisory and health services. Small round tables with mismatched chairs filled the main floor space, and a battered, squashy sofa was pushed up against the wall. As Jared looked around him, Bernie felt like he were seeing the café with fresh eyes.
“Let me get you a coffee.”
“Oh, you’re a life saver. That sofa’s inviting.” Jared sat down and looked up at Bernie. “You going to join me?”
Bernie swallowed. He’d been about to ask Jared through to his office, where they could talk in private, away from Pete’s sharp eyes.
“Sure. Macchiato? That’s what you had at my place, and in the restaurant last night.”
Jared tilted his head. “You remember what coffee I had?”
“Coffee’s my profession, so yes.”
“So your interest in me is just professional?”
“My interest in you is – not professional.”
Jared’s smile broadened, but he dropped his gaze and rearranged the bags that lay around his feet.
The muted chatter of the customers, the hard tap of metal on metal as coffee grinds were discarded, the whir of the milk frother, all of it faded to nothing for Bernie as he stared down at the man who’d left him standing dumbstruck outside a tiny Italian restaurant just the night before.
“I’ve got a guilty pleasure.”
Bernie’s stomach tightened and his cock twitched as he looked down into Jared’s dark, pupil-blown eyes.
“Yes?” Bernie croaked.
Jared licked his lips, and Bernie’s cock jumped.
“What I’d really like is one of those milky coffees, topped with whipped cream and loads of syrup. A complete and utter sugar rush. That’s my guilty pleasure and I have to indulge it every so often.”
Bernie laughed, and Jared joined in.
“You little shit,” Bernie muttered under his breath.
“Yeah, I know. Sorry.” Jared grinned.
“Is that really what you want?” Bernie quirked his brow.
Jared nodded. “Does it offend your inner barista?”
“For the price I can get away charging for them? Not at all,” Bernie said with a smile. “You can have whatever you want, whenever, and always on me. Give me a minute.”