I woke up early this morning repeating my usual routine. Tried a new order of matcha tea. Slept off in my car, and rushed to class. Tom had come a few minutes late, frantically apologizing to the class before starting the lecture. He talked about books where the protagonist were victims of bad parenting at how it resulted in them facing adversities and in some way defined their life.

Making a list of books, Educated by Tara Westover, The art of not falling apart by Christina Patterson, and A little life by Hanya Yanagihara. I took down notes of the books. I hadn't gotten started with my poem as a result of my piling homework from other classes and a part of me that didn't want to revisit the trauma my parents caused me. Tom ended the class, calling it a day and watching us leave. I took my time walking out of the class gazing at Tom who then made eye contact with me. My eyes snapped down trying to hide that I was flustered. Being that I literally touched myself to the thought of him last night. Tom's headed tilted to the side eyeing me.

"Hey, you", he called. I turned to him shyly.

Bringing up my hand to give him a small wave. Walking towards him I tucked my hair back in an attempt to look somewhat presentable.

"Sally's coffees? ". He pointed at me in a riddled tone.

"Yes...nice to meet you", I mumble nodding my head and bending my shaky knees.

"Oh hey, I didn't know you were in my class".

He said letting out a hand for me to shake. I took it feeling his rough hands slide through my palm. My heart rate increasing.

"What's your name", he asked eagerly.

"Oh it's Eva".

"Nice...Well Eva if you need anything I'm here".

Well sir, I need you inside of me.

"Thank you sir, no problem".

"Call me Tom". I can call you daddy too if you wanted.

"Oh yeah Tom...bye now".

I scurried out the door still feeling Toms gaze behind me.

The butterflies that formed in my stomach made me squirm.

***

You best believe that I went back to the coffee shop in intent of seeing him. And I did. He sat in the same chair, dressed in a black tight polo tee and plaid pants that outlined his legs, not forgetting his thick black glasses. He was reading a book this time but was distracted by the bell that rang when I entered the store. I ordered my usual 'after class fix' . And sat at the same seat, a table away, but opposite him. He looked up from his book smiling and nodding at me. I smiled back this time less shy. Looking down to my drink. I noticed a figure approach me which startled me.

"May I sit here, if you don't mind", looking up. It was Tom. Frantically nodding I smiled shifting back to make way for him to pullout his chair. He sat, and our knees touched in such a way that his legs were widened and I kept mine together in between his, and both his knees touched my legs whenever he moved. This position already made me nervous, not in a way that I felt uncomfortable but that I was rather shocked at his boldness. He smiled at me and I dropped my tea wiping my mouth with my knuckle.

"whatcha reading there", I say, peaking at the book that was folded over by the edge of the table, trying to make some sort of conversation.

"Oh its um...Read people like a book by Patrick king", he said taking the book and placing it in my hand. Not once did Tom break eye contact and this very thing about him made me fall deeper for him.

"So you can read me like a book, is what you're saying", I smirk.

"I can try", he mutters, clearing his throat and sitting up.

"Based on our encounters you are very shy and secretive".

My eyes widened, not because he was wrong but because I didn't expect him to make such a conclusion about me.

"Why would you say that", I raise my voice startled at his perception.

"Because even with us meeting here yesterday you didn't say you were in my class". Tom smirks his gaze never lifting from me.

"OHH, that doesn't make me secretive", looking down to the skirt I wore slightly tugging at it. He made me nervous, not the kind you get before a presentation but the type you get from a crush, uneasy sort off, just trying to say the right things.

"Well you're rather bold and peculiar", I said, trying to be as upfront as he was in telling me about myself.

"hmm..peculiar, explain if you will", he smirks resting back in his chair still not looking away from me, who was still a nervous wreck.

"Well you order your coffee black, meaning your'e the type to talk about yourself and say just enough, but not too much, maybe leaving the other person in whom your'e talking to guessing a little".

"Oh wow, you are good at this", he says, we both chortle.

"Where are you from Eva". He remembered my name.

"Im from New Orleans",

"Never been there, you reckon I go ?"

"Yes actually, try the food first", I smirk. It was everything and nothing talking to Tom. I could have long conversations with him, he spoke like he could read your mind. Noticing often changes in your face and tone in which he shifted also. Emotionally intelligent...that man was. Sadly our conversation was cut short when he looked at his watch. He smiled at me with those deep eyes.

"I have to go now Eva, hopefully you can tell me about New Orleans later", he said, taking my coincidentally stretched out hand and softly pecking it. Was he trying to flatter me? I mean who kisses hands in this day and age. But I loved every second of the the kiss.

And so my peculiar obsession walked out of the store. Parked in that same spot, with the same Cadillac that was painted a baby blue color with cream seats. And he drove off leaving me in a puddles of emotions. Was it bad that I wanted him to stay, and hum to me with that accent, caressing my legs with his. And neither of us being aware enough to move our legs as we both enjoyed and found comfort in the little soft touches that sent sparks up my thighs.

I looked away from the window, holding the hand in which he kissed, biting my lip and letting out the heavy breath I held in. And in the corner of my eye noticing that he left his book. I smiled and picked it up, opening the first page where a paper fell out, startled at this, I picked up the paper.

Reading it, "maybe we can talk Eva?" in his perfectly jotted cursive and to the side he wrote his number. Things like this make you fall heavily for a man. A man that knows what the heart wants. We're such hopeless romantics.

I mean all English majors are, aren't they?