ROSEANNE
"You look like you've been stood up," a guy says as I peer up from my phone, discreetly clicking the lock screen into place so he can't see what I'm watching.
I arch an eyebrow as I study him. Good looking, mid-twenties, arrogant smile, dominant posture... He's definitely barking up the wrong tree though.
"Actually, I enjoy eating alone," I tell him with a fuck-off, sweet smile.
He doesn't take the hint, because his eyes narrow with determination. Men like him prefer a challenge. I should have known better.
"I'm Jackson. You're..." He lets his words trail off as he rakes his eyes over me, but I say nothing before sipping my coffee. "If you don't give me your name, I'll just call you Beauty."
How original.
His attempt at flattery is overtly untrained and certainly underdeveloped. He's obviously used to getting his way without much of a fuss, which means he never puts forth any effort after catching his prize either. Considering his expensive suit and visible appeal, I'm not surprised.
Plenty of women will overlook his arrogance, confusing it for cockiness, possibly even find it charming.
But I'm the wrong girl.
"How about calling me Not Interested? Because that's the most apt depiction of me at the moment," I tell him, leaning back in my chair, relaxed and fully in control.
"Apparently you haven't gotten a good look," he proceeds, leaning back and pretty much posing in a stance that gives me nothing more to look at than an arrogant ass.
"I've seen more than enough. Still not interested."
His look darkens as he takes a step back.
"Fine. Fuck it. I don't need frostbite on my dick anyway," he says before turning and walking toward a table where another person is sitting.
The sun is not bright today, considering the overcast. We're just a few of the people who opted for the patio instead of the inside of the coffee house, because it looks like it's going to rain. Even though they're several tables away, I can still see his friend laughing and shaking her head as Mr. Arrogant plops down to his seat, surly and dejected.
I resume watching the footage on my phone, until I feel eyes on me. Mr. Arrogant's friend doesn't look away when I look up and catch her studying me. She's not leering or even acting interested. I'd say she's trying to read me, just the way I do people.
She's also nice looking, but her suit is not as expensive as the other guy's. My observation would lead me to believe they're work mates, but why is one dressed better than the other if they do the same job? She doesn't seem submissive or weighted, the way she would if she was working for Mr. Arrogant. Which means they're equals, but not paid the same? Or maybe Mr. Arrogant comes from money, and this woman doesn't?
Unconcerned, I return my eyes to my phone, pretending I don't notice her intense scrutiny. After finishing my coffee and my D-day screening, I ask the waitress for the bill.
"It's already been paid," she says with a soft smile and bright eyes. "And you've already left a tip as well," she adds, winking. "A nice one."
My eyebrows go up, and she motions back with her head as Mr. Arrogant's friend walks off the patio. Mr. Arrogant is nowhere to be found.
"She said to thank you for the entertainment," she proceeds to tell me while fanning herself and watching her walk toward a dark SUV.
"Thanks," I tell her, standing up and heading toward the exit as well.
