Chapter 5

It was Sunday morning, and Paul was restless. Nikki had told him he was coming to the café--but not with them, as himself, rather as a stranger.

He was told to find a secluded seat inside and wait. “I had planned to give him the brush earlier,” she said, a sly smile playing on her lips. “But now ... you’ll get to watch what a proper date really looks like.”

Paul didn’t have to wait long before he saw Nikki enter the café with her date. She wore a tight black skirt that barely reached mid-thigh and a white, long-sleeved top that revealed ample cleavage.

One hand held a small black clutch, which she used to keep her skirt down, while the other clutched the arm of the man Paul could only assume was Han. He was a Chinese man, at least in his thirties, with greasy, flipped-back hair and slightly pockmarked face. He reminded Paul of the bigger Chinese boys who had bullied him in middle school, and a surge of resentment--and a strange, twisting jealousy--coiled in his chest as he watched them find a table.

The café was crowded, but they found a small table tucked into a corner, away from the bustle. Nikki slid onto the long bench against the wall, while the man pulled up the chair across the round table.

Paul’s table was on the far side of the hall, with the dessert counters between them, so he could only see them if he leaned forward. He inched his chair sideways, trying not to draw attention, until he had a direct, slightly angled line of sight.

Occasional passersby blocked his view, but whenever the space cleared, he could see Nikki’s face from there in detail. Her eyes darted around the room for a few seconds, as if searching for him, and he suddenly noticed her makeup was flawless. She must have spent a long time this morning to get that look, Paul thought. And knowing it had all been done for the pleasure of another man sent a sharp tingle through him.

From his vantage point just off to the side, he caught glimpses of her elegantly crossed thighs. One heel hung precariously from the crossed leg, threatening to slip with the slightest movement of her body, and Paul found himself swallowing gulps of saliva to quench his thirst.

A waiter interrupted Paul’s gaze, clearing his throat. “What would you like to order?”

“Umm...” Paul hesitated before blurting out, “Black coffee.”

“Anything else?”

“A pack of Red Ruby and an ashtray, please.”

No sooner had the waiter walked away than Nikki’s eyes found his. She must have recognized his voice, giving his position away.

Paul felt like he was back in school, and the hottest girl in the class was looking at him. Only today, instead of feeling like his usual self, he felt like a loser--a loser who knew she was out of reach, a loser who knew she belonged to someone else, a loser whom she wouldn’t look at except for fleeting moments out of pity ... or mischief.