“It’s just an Americano.” He gestures the cup to me again. I take it, realizing I’m staring at him, wondering why he’s bringing me coffee. “I didn’t know what you like.” I stare down at the lid, almost teary over the fact he’s here. Even though I dropped a bomb on him last night, he’s bringing me coffee. “Other than tequila and doggy style—fuck.” He swipes a hand through his perfectly tousled hair. “Sorry. Can you say something so I stop making awkward jokes to fill the silence?”
