Chapter One

Business was booming.

Todd McPhie loved the coffee shop business. He really did. The smell of coffee made him happy, the people were like five minute friends, and the voyeurism factor was huge.

Friday evening at the Jerusalem Coffee Company was like the McDonald's of yuppie neurosis. Supersized drama for all. The clientele Todd catered to tended toward closet cases or flaming queens with little wiggle room in between, and watching the two factions dance around each other fascinated him.

Especially since they were all so desperate to hook up.

His barista, Victor, grinned over at him while foaming a skim milk double shot mocha caramel something, shaking his head. "What do you want to bet that Mr. Cinnamon Bun and Two Creams hooks up with Mr. Soy Chai Cinnamon?"

Todd just shook his head, watching Victor's earrings bob. "No bets. Mr. Bun wants to beat Mr. Chai until he's bloody."

Victor hooted, swirling a little heart into the foam. "You know it. You know, boss, it's been awhile since you tanned some."

He let Victor get away with shit like that because the guy had been with him since he opened and all he could pay was the meager tips they got. No one else was allowed to comment on Todd's personal life.

Or lack thereof.

He shook his head mournfully, giving Victor a fake as hell hang dog look. "I scare 'em all off, honey. But thanks for thinking of me."

"Anything for you, boss."

Todd headed on out to the floor to clean some tables, rolling up the sleeves of his turtleneck and pondering how it might be time to hire some more help. With Alan quitting, he was a little short-handed, and that left him little time to play.

He chatted with a couple regulars, working his way around the joint. When he got back to the tiny corner in the back, all he saw were stacks of books, a faded ball cap, and a regular mug a quarter full on the wood.

Okay. Working? On a Friday?

Now that was a novelty. Todd grinned and made his way over, peering into the depths of the booth. "You need a refill?"

"Hmm?" The brim of that cap lifted, a pair of big bright-blue eyes meeting his, electric enough that they sparked.

Lord, that was pretty. Suddenly even more intrigued, Todd gestured to the mostly empty cup. "A refill. What's your poison?"

"Just boring old black coffee, thank you." The voice had a drawl to it, was smooth as fucking silk. The guy’s pen hung in the air, those eyes just clinging to his.

He reached for the guy's mug, leaning across the table just enough to let his shirt pull tight across his chest. Hell, he wasn't above flirting hard when someone was this pretty. "Cool. I'll be right back. Don't run off."

"My ride's trying desperately to get a blow job from the little blond twink with the glittery eye shadow. I'll be right here."

Well, well. Looked like Mr. Bun had shown up with a dance partner and then abandoned him. Letting his hip bump the table, Todd turned and headed back to the carafes, filling from the freshest one. He grabbed a chocolate chip muffin, too, one of Amy's best. His baker had blue hair and more tattoos than Lucifer, but she was insanely good.

"Here you go. And some sustenance on the house."

"Oh, are you sure? I don't mind..." Blue Eyes got a whiff of the muffin and moaned. "Oh, that smells good."

"Hey, if you've been abandoned for green tea and soy milk, it's the least I can do." A quick twist of his hips had him sitting across from Mr. Hot, and Todd planted his elbows on the table, leaning on his hands. "You could share."

"I could. In fact, it might be incredibly rude of me not to." The muffin was split in half, part offered to him. "Thank you for the refill."

"Not a problem." The muffin had chocolate chunks and pecans and hidden little bits of toffee, and it was almost enough to distract him from his dining partner. Good thing he had focus.

Mr. Hot seemed to be enjoying his half, too, licking his fingers clean, being careful not to muss the piles of papers.

"So what're you working on. I'm Todd by the way." There. See him not lick the man's fingers right along with him.

"J.D. I'm working on a deposition for my boss. He wants it Monday morning."

"Man, that sounds dull as watching paint peel. It's Friday night, honey. You ought to play some." With me, he thought, but that was just his cock talking.

Continued in First Section