Café de l'Amour by NSyncGrrl      From the moment he walks up to the counter and turns those crystal green eyes my way, I know I am lost. He wears a meticulous suit, crisp and freshly pressed, cut to accentuate his narrow waist and the swell of his butt, and when he smiles shyly at me, I grin foolishly back. Suddenly I'm all too aware of the dingy white apron covering me, the ground coffee under my nails, the wiry corkscrews of my hair. I smooth down my curls and wipe my hands on my apron. "Good morning," I say, stepping to the counter.      "Good morning, Justin," he says, his voice deeper than I expect.      "How do you know my name?" I ask, the grin threatening to split my face. I want to hear him say it again.      He points at my chest, where the nametag I wear proudly proclaims that I'm Justin, manager-in-training for Joe Muggs Café. I roll my eyes and try not to blush. Ducking my head, I toy with a tear in the countertop and notice the initial ring he wears -- JLB. I want to know what each letter stands for. "I'm Lance," he says, offering me his hand.      I'm too startled to do anything but shake it. His touch is warm and strong, and almost reluctantly I let his hand go. "What can I get you this morning, Lance?" I ask, daring to look at him again.      Those crystalline eyes stare back. I know I'm staring but I can't help it. When I'm about to ask again, he nods at the small clapboard on the counter, where today's special is written in my sloppy block handwriting. "What's a Mocha Locha Latté?" he asks.      I shrug. The ingredients are written on the board but I like talking to him. I lean over the counter to read the board, all too aware of the fact that he doesn't step away from me. His hand rests on the counter by my arm, and I want to touch him again but I don't. "Chocolate and amarillo and --"      "Amaretto," he says, laughing. When I look up at him, he's so close that I can smell the warm musk cologne he wears. "Amarillo is a city in Texas."      "I've never been there," I say, smiling.      He smiles back. "Why not?" he asks. His fingers brush against my arm accidentally, causing the hairs to stand up at the touch.      I stand back quickly. "You want to try one of those?" I ask, pointing at the board.      "Are they any good?" he asks, the smile still on his lips. I shrug and busy myself with picking at the countertop again.      "I don't know," I admit. "I'm not big on coffee."      He laughs at that. "And you work here?"      I shrug again. "It's a job. It pays the bills." I dare to look at those green eyes again. I could get lost in that gaze. "Do you like coffee?"      "I like some of the specialty drinks," he says. "Mostly the chocolate ones. I like sweet things." I feel my cheeks heat up at the intense way he's watching me. "With lots of whipped cream."      I imagine him naked, white foamy cream covering his nipples and cock, and I hope to God I am not blushing as much as I think I am. "Well," I sigh, turning away. I look up at the menu above me, trying to focus on the words written there. "How about a Chocolate Caramel Latté? Those are sweet, and I can use lots of whipped cream for you --"      "Just for me?" he purrs, and I jump because he's suddenly very close to me, his voice curling into my ear like a secret.      "Well, most people like it that way," I stammer, and I'm blushing again, dammit. "It's very sweet, and I'm sure you'll like it ..." Please, I pray. God, you already think I'm an idiot. Please just order already and let me crawl into the nearest hole. Please.      "Do you like it?" he asks. Numbly I nod, not trusting myself to speak. "Then I'll take one," he says, and I busy myself making the drink. I try not to look at him while I work, but every time I glance his way those eyes are watching me, making my hands clumsy.      "Here you go," I say, handing him the tall glass. It's hot and the whipped cream is piled up on top of it like a promise. I even sprinkled chocolate jimmies and cinnamon on it. God, I'm trying too hard. "I hope you like it."      He hands me his credit card, that smile still on his face, and I roll my eyes -- I forgot to ring up the drink. "I'm sure I will," he replies. He sips at the hot liquid and when he sets the glass down, he has a thin mustache of whipped cream along his upper lip. As I watch, his tongue licks it away, and I fight the urge to lick my own lips. "I heard you singing when I came in," he said, sipping at the drink again. "You've got a great voice."      "Thanks," I whisper.      "Do you do a lot of singing?" he asks. He leans against the counter and I'm glad there aren't any other customers in the café right now.      I shrug. "At church," I say. "In the shower." His gaze drops to my waist and I blush again, sure I can just imagine what he's thinking. "I haven't had any formal training or anything. You see where I'm working, right?"      He laughs. "That could change," he says, handing me a business card. FreeLance Entertainment, it reads in a flourish script, and beneath that, James Lance Bass, CEO. You're kidding me, I think, amazed. When I look up at him, he grins. "Give me a call sometime. I think you might have what it takes to make it big in music, Justin."      "Maybe," I say softly, sticking the card in my back pocket. I want to ask him if he's only offering me a chance to sing or something else, but I don't have that kind of courage. I'm not that blatant a flirt.      He winks at me as he turns away. "Have a good day, Justin."      "You too, Lance," I manage as I watch him walk away. His card burns in my pocket. *   *   *      "Hey Curly." I look up from the napkin I'm doodling on and find Josh standing at the counter, staring up at the menu. "What's the special today?"      I point at the clapboard. "Same as yesterday," I say. "I'm too lazy to change it right now."      "Well damn, boy," he says, grinning. "Erase it and make up something new."      I grin at him. I've known Josh forever -- he's my best friend. I don't know how he manages to duck out of work so often but when he does, he always comes over to the café for a drink. I say it's to bother me. "What do you want?" I ask, sighing. I take a wet washcloth and wipe the chalk off the board.      "A tall cappuccino with a twist of lime," Josh says, and I groan.      "That's disgusting," I say, blowing on the clapboard so it will dry. "How do you come up with this shit?"      Josh shrugs. "I don't know, I just thought I might give it a try. Hook me up, Just."      I hand him the chalk and the board. "Here, make up a drink." As he starts to write, I amend myself. "A good drink. Something people can drink without gagging."      "All my drinks are good," he says, sounding hurt. I laugh and make him that damn cappuccino, sure to put a double shot of lime in it.      "You want whipped cream?" I ask. Josh leans over to reach for a napkin and sees the one I was doodling on.      "Hearts?" he asks, raising an eyebrow at me. "Who's the lucky guy?"      "No one," I say, blushing. I throw the napkin away, cursing myself for leaving it out where he could see it.      Josh doesn't give up that easily. "Tell me," he says, scratching the chalk across the board. He sets it down and pouts. "No special today. I can't think of anything good. Who's the guy?"      "No one," I say again. "You want whipped cream on this thing or not?" Before he can answer I squirt a handful of cream on the top of the hot drink, trying not to think of Lance as I do. He comes in every day now and always orders the Chocolate Caramel Latté. Every time I see him, I fall a little harder. He's so nice, and so damn gorgeous -- I love the way he watches me over the top of his mug, the way his gaze lingers down my body while I make his drink, the way his hand brushes against mine when he pays.      "Hey!" Josh cries, sitting down at the bar. "Get that shit off my drink. You ruin a good cup of java with that crap." I scoop the whipped cream off with my hand and fling it into the sink. "And keep your hands out of my drink, Curly. Wait 'til I tell your manager about that."      I grin at him and wipe my hands off on the washcloth. "Like she cares. I'm her golden child. Can't do no wrong."      "Your grammar is atrocious," he says, sipping at the drink.      I notice his grimace and laugh. "That good?" I ask.      "Try it," he says, handing me the glass, but I shove it back across the bar at him.      "I ain't trying that shit," I say. "You know I hate these drinks."      Josh grins. "And yet you make them oh so well. Who's the guy?"      "What guy?" I ask innocently.      Narrowing his eyes, Josh says, "Don't do me like that. You know damn well who I'm talking about. The guy who has you drawing hearts on napkins and moussing your hair before you come to work."      "I always use mousse ..." My hand strays to my curls. "Is it that obvious?"      Josh nods. "You're smitten, Justin. Tell me all about it."      "I can't --" I look up as Lance enters the café. Josh sees the look on my face and turns around, grinning. Lance holds the door open and someone comes in with him, a guy about my height, with short dark hair that sticks up all over the place and a trim beard and an air around him that just screams Italian to me. When he smiles at something Lance says, his eyes scrunch into thin half-moons and his lips pull into a devilish grin. My heart hammers in my chest -- Lance has never come in with anyone else before.      "Which one is he?" Josh asks softly. Lance nods at me and heads for the counter, his friend following. "The blonde or the mobster?"      "Hi, Lance!" I say, a little too brightly, as they approach. I pray that Josh has enough presence of mind to keep his mouth shut. "Let me guess -- the usual."      "You know how I like it," Lance replies, winking at me. He glances at Josh casually, and then turns to his friend. "What'll you have, Joe?"      Joe shrugs and looks at the menu. "I don't know," he mumbles. "What's good?"      I feel Lance's gaze on my face, but I try to ignore those green eyes. "It depends --" I start, trying to be professional.      "Try the cappuccino with lime," Josh calls out, tipping his glass to Lance and Joe. "A coffee margarita. You'll love it."      "Josh, please," I hiss, but Joe walks around Lance, heading for the bar.      "Is it good?" he asks, leaning against the countertop.      Josh pushes the drink over to him. "Try it," he says. When Joe eyes the glass warily, Josh says, "Don't worry. I didn't spit in it. Though Justin did stick his hands in it."      God. I cover my eyes with my hand and sigh. "I didn't --"      Lance laughs as Joe takes a large swallow of the hot drink. "Interesting," he says, handing the glass back to Josh. "Very ... limey."      "It is that," Josh says, winking at me.      I glare at him. "Don't you have to get back to work or something?" I ask.      "Or something," he says, but he doesn't budge. This is not going to be fun.      "What are you getting?" Joe asks Lance quietly.      Lance points to the menu. "The Chocolate Caramel Latté." He smiles at me. "It's heavenly."      I blush as I ring up his drink. Joe pushes past Lance and leans onto the counter. Catching my eye, he stares at me and says, "I want something with chocolate and fruit in it. You have anything fruity here?"      I meet his hard gaze with one of my own. "Raspberry Mocha," I say as if issuing a challenge. I don't like this man, who can spend time with Lance outside of this smoky café, who laughs at what he says, and who doesn't like me, I can already tell.      Joe stares at me a moment longer and then smiles. "Okay," he says, nodding. "Give me one of those."      I set their drinks down on the counter and Lance hands me his credit card. When I try to take it, though, he holds onto it until I look at him. "You haven't called me yet," he says.      "I've been busy," I say. His fingers brush over mine and then he releases the card.      "All the time?" he asks.      I shrug. "I work a lot," I admit. Truth be told, I'm scared to call him. I've picked up the phone a dozen times and never got the courage to dial. Once I did dial, and the phone rang and rang and I hung up before it could stop.      "So I've noticed," Lance says. He should -- he's been coming here every day for the past week and I've been here, waiting for him. "Do you ever get a day off?"      "We're a little short staffed right now," I say. I try to remember my schedule -- "I have Thursday off, though."      He smiles. "Are you busy then?" he asks. His friend is sipping at his drink and ignoring us, intent on the pastries in the glass case beside the counter.      "No," I whisper.      "Call me," he says, and I nod. "We'll get together Thursday. How's that sound?" It sounded wonderful. "You still have my card?"      "Yes." It's in my wallet. I stuck it in front of my driver's license so it's the first thing I see in there.      He winks at me. "Have a good day, Justin," he says, like he always does.      "You too, Lance," I reply.      As he leaves with his friend, Josh calls out in a singsong voice, "You too, Lance."      I throw the wet washcloth at him. "Shut up," I growl.      Josh simply laughs. "That's your boy?" he asks, grinning. "The man of your dreams? The one you're drawing hearts over?"      "So?" I ask, frowning. "Shut up."      Josh shrugs. "I think it's cute. You two look good together. What's this call me crap? You have his number?"      "Yeah," I say, sighing. "He owns an entertainment business."      Josh raises an eyebrow. "You mean like a porn king? Him?"      "No, stupid. Like a recording studio thing." I sigh again. "He wants me to come over and sing for him, see if I'm any good."      "And you haven't called him yet?" Josh asks, incredulous. "Shit, Justin, go for it. Hell, if he's offering --"      "Offering what?" I wonder. "You think that was his boyfriend?"      Josh glances back at the door, but they're long gone. "Nah," he says, shaking his head. "He didn't look the type to me." Grinning, he adds, "Besides, you should've seen the way he kept looking at you when you were making the drinks. Undressing you with his eyes."      I blushed. "Really?" I ask. I pour another healthy handful of lime Torani into his drink. "This is why I like you so much. You're great for my ego."      Josh pushes away the bottle. "Your ego's big enough as it is without my help. I gotta get back to work." Standing up from the bar, he winks at me and says, "Call him already, Justin. He wants you. And do me a favor?" When I nod, he adds, "Remind me never to drink a lime cappuccino again."      When he leaves, I pick up another napkin and begin doodling again. *   *   *      I finally call Lance, and he gives me directions to his place, a condo in the posh section of town. I feel so out of place as I park my battered Toyota in the parking deck between a gleaming Mercedes Benz and a Lexus SUV. I wonder what Lance drives, and I hope he doesn't ask me about my old '82 Corolla that hiccuped all the way here. He wants to have a late lunch before taking me over to the studio, and I make a mental note not to offer to drive. I can't picture him in the front seat of my car, and I'd have to spend twenty minutes cleaning it out enough to let him sit down if he wanted to ride, anyway.      In the elevator I smooth down my blazer and study my reflection in the mirrored walls. I'm wearing a suit that's fashionably too large for me -- it's the only classy outfit I own, and I spent three months' worth of paychecks on it when I saw it in a shop downtown over the summer. It's a dark blue that matches my eyes perfectly, the blazer and pants made of a crushed silk so light, I feel as if I'm wearing nothing at all. A light blue shirt peeks out from the neck and cuffs, and I've unbuttoned it as far as I can without looking like a pimp daddy. The necklace my mother bought me when I graduated from high school, a large golden pendant with my initials on it, hangs cold against my bare skin. I fluff my hair and pray I don't look as awkward as I feel.      Outside of his door, I'm almost afraid to knock. He's expecting you, I think, and the thought of seeing him overrides my fear. He answers before I even finish knocking, an eager smile on his face that ignites his eyes. "Justin," he says, opening the door to let me in. As I walk inside, he looks me over and in a quiet voice says, "You look great."      I turn around and he's still looking at my legs, hidden in the baggy pants, so he doesn't see the thin blush pinking my cheeks. "Thanks," I mumble. I look at him in another flawless suit and sigh. Damn, he's perfect. "You do too."      Closing the door, Lance leads me into the kitchen. "I don't know what you like," he says over his shoulder, his gaze lingering on the necklace against my bare throat before meeting my eyes, "so I waited for you to show up before deciding on what to make for lunch. What do you want?"      I shrug. "Anything, really," I say. You, I want to say, but I'm not that brazen.      In the kitchen, I lean against the table and watch as he opens the fridge. When he bends over to reach something on a low shelf, I bite my lip and tell myself I'm only here because he likes my voice, but it's so hard to look at his round ass and not want more. He stands up and winks at me, two beers in his hands. Tossing me one, he says, "I'd offer you coffee but I know you don't like it. Beer?"      "Sure," I say, popping the can open. I need something, anything, right now. My throat is parched.      As I take a deep swallow, he watches me closely. Then he asks, "That guy at the café the other day, the one with the lime cappuccino? He your friend?"      I nod. "I've known Josh forever," I say, savoring the beer. "Sometimes he can be a little ... odd, though. That lime thing --"      Lance laughs. "Joe said it wasn't half bad."      There's that name again. Joe. Already I hate him. Clearing my throat, I ask, "Is he a friend of yours?" Of course he is, stupid, he came in with Lance, didn't he? I wish my brain would kick in before my mouth sometimes.      "Joe?" Lance asks, taking a step closer to me. His eyes watch me over the beer as he takes a swig. "Joe and I go way back. He's one of the first artists who signed on with FreeLance Entertainment. He's got an album coming out in December."      "Really?" I ask, trying to sound suitably impressed. I hope he doesn't see the jealousy in my eyes or hear the bitterness in my voice.      Lance shrugs. "He's got a great voice. And he's a lot of fun -- I think you two will really hit it off."      "I don't know," I mumble. I don't want to hit it off with Joe, and right now I don't want to hear Lance talk about him, either.      "He likes coffee," Lance says, laughing. "I told him about your place and I must've talked it up too much, because he wanted to check it out for himself. He really liked that Raspberry Mocha. Good choice."      "Thanks," I mutter. I set the beer down on the table and feel myself pouting -- I didn't come here for this.      Lance takes another step closer to me. "Joe's a party animal," he says, watching me intently. "You strike me as the type who likes to have a fun time. You should come out with us sometime. Joe loves his parties and his women."      "I'm not really into that," I whisper.      "Into what?" Lance asks, and I look up to meet those incredible eyes. He's standing so close now -- when did he get this close? "Parties, or women?"      "Both," I say, my voice barely audible.      Lance clears his throat and sets his beer down next to my can. His hand brushes over mine, his fingers warm and soft. "Me, either." He takes my hand in his and I feel like I'm falling. "Do you have a boyfriend, Justin?"      "No," I reply. I've never had a boyfriend. I've fooled around but never with anyone I felt anything for. Never with anyone like Lance.      "Do you want one?" he asks, and then he leans forward to kiss me. His lips are strong and sure on my own, his tongue eager as he parts my tentative lips and delves into my mouth. His hand cradles my chin as he wraps his other arm around my waist, pulling me closer. I close my eyes and let my body respond to his question for me. *   *   *      "A Coco-Mocha café au lait, please." I look up to find Josh standing at the counter, grinning like a fool.      "A what?" I ask, wiping my hands on the washcloth.      "Listen carefully, Curly," he says, as if I'm stupid. "Coco -- that means coconut. Mocha -- that means chocolate. And you know what a café au lait is."      I shake my head, grinning. "You want coconut syrup and chocolate in a cup of coffee and milk? Jesus Christ, that's disgusting."      "It's today's special," he says, picking up the clapboard. "Give me the chalk." I toss the chalk to him and begin making his drink. As he writes on the board, he asks, "So how's the new boyfriend?"      "Lance is fine," I say, smiling at the thought of him. It's been a month and I still feel like I'm falling. I don't ever want to hit the ground. "He should be in here soon to pick me up. We're going to spend the night at his place, watching movies and cuddling on the couch."      "That's too much information," Josh says, grinning.      "Sorry," I say, but I'm not really. I'm gushing and I love talking about Lance. I'll talk about him to anyone who will listen. Even my manager is getting tired of hearing about him, and she's never met him before.      Josh finishes writing up his specialty drink and sits down at the bar. I hand him his glass. "What, no whipped cream?" he asks. I roll my eyes and squirt cream all over the top of his drink. Stirring the cream into the hot liquid, he looks at me critically and says, "You two come from different worlds, Justin. What keeps you together?"      I shrug. "I don't know," I admit. "There's just something about him that feels so right. And we have so much in common -- we both love music, and we love sex ..."      "Thanks for sharing," Josh says again, choking on his drink. That's his way of saying that I'm telling him too much that he didn't need to know. I wipe up the coffee he's spilled onto the bar. "Has he said the L word yet?"      "Every time I talk to him," I say, sighing. "He tells me all the time -- Josh, this is it. This is the one, trust me." The bell above the door jingles as Lance walks in, smiling just for me. "Speaking of," I say, moving back over to the counter. "Hey Lance," I say. God, I'm so happy to see him.      He leans over the counter and kisses me. "Hey baby," he says. He nods at Josh and then glances at his watch. "I'm a little early. You think I have time for a drink?"      "Anything for you," I say, kissing him again.      "You two cut it out," Josh calls from the bar. "I don't want cooties in my drink."      Lance laughs. "And what are you drinking today?" he asks, taking a seat next to Josh as I make his drink.      Josh pushes the cup over to him. "Coco-Mocha café au lait," he says proudly, the words rolling off his tongue. "Have a sip."      "I don't think so," Lance replies. When I hand him his drink, he catches my hand and pulls me across the bar for another kiss. "Have I told you I loved you yet today?"      "Maybe," I mumble against his lips. "But tell me again."      "You guys get a room already," Josh grumbles, and I slap him with the washcloth before I start to clean the espresso machine. Another ten minutes and Chris will come in, and I'll be able to leave with Lance. I can't wait until my shift is up. The End *   *   * All of these stories are copyright © me so don't steal them -- write your own damn stories. It's not that hard, I promise. Feedback is much appreciated -- e-mail: forever@jherusalem.com