Lights Out

Second week in May

Joe pulled into the parking lot of Lights Out Coffee in search of his morning cup of
get your ass in gear.
He stopped for coffee most mornings with no preference for any place in particular; they were all interchangeable to him. Yesterday had been his first time here. It was conveniently close to both his home and his nephew’s school, and he could work from almost anywhere.

He entered the shop. The line was long, as it had been yesterday. This must be a popular place. He walked over to take his place at the end of the line, giving a nod to the guy who stood in front of him—some type of rent-a-cop.

He scanned the shop while he waited. It was new, and had been open about a month, maybe. He couldn’t remember exactly how long, but remembered passing a huge sign advertising the grand opening. He sort of liked the look of it, large and roomy with an abundance of tables and soft, cushiony chairs; he hated the hard kind. It offered Wi-Fi and a plethora of outlets near most of the tables.

He even liked the obnoxious color scheme of purple, blue, and apple green, mixed in somehow with a boxing theme. Go figure how they’d come up with that pairing. Posters of boxing greats adorned the walls along with famous pieces of boxing memorabilia encased in glass. He didn’t know if they were the real thing or fakes, but they were tastefully done, at any rate. Small boxing gloves in the same loud colors adorned the black polo shirts and aprons of the employees.

He’d worked from here yesterday morning. The music was not too loud—he’d been able to hear himself think. His eyes roamed over the employees on duty today. There were two of them this morning: the same older woman he’d seen yesterday making the drinks and a tall African-American woman with light brown skin and lots of curly hair, like the afros of old. Hers was a little curlier, framing her face, a headband holding it back from her eyes.

She was average in looks, nothing to write home about, a six on a ten-point scale, but scoring higher when she smiled. She was laughing now. Her full lips glistened. Her eyes sparkled. Her body was her best asset hands down, at least what he could see of it. She appeared athletic, always his preference, and tall.

* * *

Piper Renee Knight knew how to work her customers, male or female, and get them in and out quickly. She knew which questions to ask to find that sweet spot where intake met up with desire and need. Knew what it took to get you off to a good start in the morning, feeling oh so good and energized; if you needed an afternoon quickie or a late night snack, she was ready and more than able to provide assistance there, too. She could even get you to talk and smile during the experience…the coffee experience, that was. She’d been serving her customers successfully at her first Lights Out Coffee location, her baby, for the last two years.

It was seven in the a.m. and her shop was filled with people, all standing in line waiting their turn in their rush to get the fuel that made their engines purr. They had places to go, people to see, jobs to get to, and she was a vital aid in their quest. Sometimes it was easy-peesy, and other times as difficult as herding cats. Today, it was working like a dream.

“White chocolate mocha,” Piper said to the woman who’d stood now in front of the line. She hadn’t learned all of the regulars by name at this location yet, just knew them by their drink orders, but it would only be a matter of time before she did. White chocolate mocha was a plump sista with long flowing locks. She was a regular in that she came in at least once a week, maybe twice.

Piper plucked a cup from her stack and wrote WC on it, passing it off to the barista, fancy name for mixer of coffee-like drinks, responsible this morning for preparing the complicated drinks orders while she ran the register, handed out pastries, and poured the more simple drinks.

This morning she was joined on the stage by hardworking and dependable barista Estelle, not her usual college student employee. Estelle was in her mid forties with kids in high school, and working at Lights Out Coffee supplied her with fun money, coffee, and entertainment.

Standing behind WC was low fat latte with two sweeteners, normal order for red-headed Elle of the WMW (watch my weight club). She plucked another cup from her stack, noted the order, took Elle’s card, ran it through the register, and handed her the slip for a signature. Piper felt satisfied as she watched the woman move on down the line.

Next on deck was “Give it to me black” Hugo, a short, white, slightly balding guy who worked nights. If he was pulling a double, it was “Give it to me black with three shots of espresso.”

“Getting off from work?” she asked, giving him the once-over, taking in his rumpled security guard uniform, fake gun in the holster by his side.

“Nope, gotta get back. Someone called in sick,” he said, grimacing.

“So it’s tall, black, and potent?” she asked, drawing out the word potent, smiling at him.

“You got it,” he said, handing a five-dollar bill over to her. “So you’ve been keeping yourself busy, with the two shops and all?”

“Yep, it’s been wicked crazy since this one opened, but I’m managing. I’ve been alternating daily between the two,” she said, handing him his change.

“I miss not seeing you every day,” he said, giving her a wink.

“Not as much as I miss you,” she said, winking right back and adding an air kiss. He smiled, used to this over-the-top flirting from her.

Hugo was one of her die-hard regulars, had been coming in for coffee since her first shop opened two years ago. When she’d opened this second location, he’d switched—said it was closer to his job. She could set her watch by him. She took his travel cup, which was twice the size of any of the cups she offered. Since he was a very good customer she filled it full to the brim, added three shots of espresso, screwed the lid on, and handed it over to him.

“See you around.”

“You bet,” he said, walking away.

Joe stood before her now and he watched her take him in. She seemed startled for a second, a reaction not uncommon for him. He watched her eyes quickly scan his body, her perusal smooth and slick.

Her smile widened, her eyes gleamed. “You can have whatever you want this morning,” she said, drawing out her words, invitation in her eyes. He wasn’t sure if she was serious or not.

“I’d like a bagel and a large coffee, black,” he replied.

“I’m disappointed in you,” she said, pointing her finger at him, her full, shiny lips turned downward. “Here I had you pegged for the oatmeal kind of man. It’s a shame really, ’cause the oatmeal here is extraordinary, especially when heated, sweet…filling…all that melted brown sugar sliding over your tongue…and so good for you,” she offered, leaning toward him, in the old black and white movie vamp way.

He chuckled, “All that, huh? Hard to pass up, but probably more than I could handle,” he said, smiling now. She was not at all what he’d expected.

“I know, right? Guess you’d better stick with your bagel and coffee. There’s safety there.”

He smiled, taking in the flush on her face, the smattering of freckles resting on her cheeks, lips glossy and parted as she leaned into him, with her finger crooked and beckoning him closer. He leaned in. Just because. Her finger pushed the strands of hair that blocked his ear from her view, tucking them behind it, before she put her mouth near his lobe, like she’d known him forever. His eyes moved to the v of her polo shirt, taking in two pert breasts, while breathing in her fresh floral scent.

“Bet you…like…it…. warm,” she whispered, eyes peeking at him beneath slightly lowered lashes, when he’d turned his face to hers, like they were the only ones in the shop.

“Excuse me?” he replied, at a loss for words.

“The bagel, you wanted it warmed, right?” The eyes staring into his were fiendish now, and full of humor as she pulled back from him, turned her back, and stuck a coffee cup under the dispenser. He caught her laughter.

He chuckled in surprise, looking around, hoping he didn’t have too many witnesses to being caught that far off his game. He caught the older woman making drinks smiling at him, as if saying “she put one over on you.” He smiled back sheepishly.

“Here’s your coffee. I’ll bring the bagel over to you in a sec,” Piper said, giving him a wink. He took his change from her hand and put a dollar into the tip jar.

“Thanks,” she said, following him as he walked away. God, he was a beauty, patting herself on the back—commending herself for her excellent display of confidence. She’d played it off well. He hadn’t a clue what a shock to her system he’d been. Her eyes followed him to a table near the front.

Eye candy, indeed. A too-pretty face, this shy of being a girl; his teeth were a little bit crooked; his hair long and blond; steely grey eyes; and a body that was meant to be treasured, worshipped, loved. Lucky the female who had the rights to it. Piper glanced over at Estelle, who’d caught her eye and fanned her face, causing Piper to laugh.

She sighed, her eyes darting back over to him again as he’d taken a seat, now looking over his BlackBerry. Middleweight, the nickname she’d internally given him just then, was one fine man. He was about six feet to her five feet, six inches, and about 160 pounds of firm flesh. Nice guns sat snug and visible in the short sleeves of his shirt. Trim upper body, slim waist, and a firm and fine ass.

She’d spent enough time in her dad’s boxing gyms growing up, so she had a working knowledge of weight, anatomy, and physiology and how it came together to lovingly create the perfect male specimen for the sweet science that was boxing.

“I don’t know what I want,” were the words that spilled from her next customer’s mouth, pulling her from her thoughts. This was her least favorite request. It put a halt to a moving line faster than a speeding bullet.

One collective sigh rose from those in line behind this woman. They, too, knew the type well. One customer rolled her eyes and checked her watch. No worries today, Piper wanted to tell them, they had her in charge, kicking ass and moving the line. They would not be delayed, not on her watch.

“I’m watching my weight,” the woman continued.

“Yes,” Piper said. Of course she was, weren’t they all. “I’d bet you’d like a low-fat latte. We offer either coffee- or tea-based. They’re mostly milk—skim for you, of course—and a shot of coffee, tea, or flavoring if you’d like,” Piper said, hoping to be helpful. She knew this little-ole-helpless-me type.