Inked & Innocent

Dangerous Proximity

The soft chime of the bell over the door rang, letting me know another customer had entered. Except this time, I didn't even need to look up. I could feel him before I saw him—Javier Peña. It was as if the air thickened the moment he stepped into Bean There, Read That. I stayed focused on the espresso machine, trying to act like his presence didn't have my stomach doing backflips.

I had been dreading and anticipating this moment for days. Our last conversation had left me shaken, but it had also left me wanting. I couldn't get his dark eyes out of my head, couldn't stop hearing his gravelly voice asking me if I was scared of him.

The thing was, I wasn't scared of him. I was scared of the way he made me feel. He was dangerous, in the kind of way that promised to change everything.

I heard the slow shuffle of boots against the hardwood floors as he approached the counter, each step sounding louder than it should. I inhaled deeply, praying I didn't blush the second I looked up at him.

"You're here early," I said, trying to sound casual as I turned toward him.

Javier was leaning against the counter, his arms folded across his chest, the tattoos on his forearms on full display. His eyes flickered to mine, and I felt that familiar charge between us.

"Thought I'd beat the rush," he replied, his voice low and teasing. "Unless you're too busy to help me?"

I shook my head quickly. "No, I'm not busy." I wasn't busy at all, even though my heart was racing like I had just sprinted up a hill. "What can I get you?"

His eyes didn't leave mine. "Black coffee."

I nodded and turned to grab a cup, glad for a second to be able to look away. As I poured the coffee, I felt his gaze on me. It was almost unbearable how much I wanted to look back, but I forced myself to stay calm. He was always watching me like that, and it left me on edge—like he saw more than I wanted him to.

When I turned back to hand him the cup, our fingers brushed, and the contact sent a jolt of heat through me. I immediately pulled my hand back, flustered.

"Thanks," he said, his voice slower now, rougher.

"No problem," I mumbled, looking down at the counter. "How's your day going?"

His chuckle was low, almost like a growl. "It just started."

I felt a heat rising to my cheeks. Right. It was barely 8 a.m., and here I was, making small talk like an idiot. I cleared my throat. "Right. Well, I hope it's a good one."

Javier's eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head slightly, studying me like he was trying to figure something out. "You always this jumpy?"

I blinked. "Jumpy?"

"You're not like this with anyone else," he said, his tone light but probing. "But when I walk in here, you get all nervous." He smirked, clearly enjoying the effect he had on me. "Why's that?"

"I don't—" I started, my throat tightening. "I'm not nervous."

That damned smirk widened. "No?"

My heart hammered in my chest. There was no use lying to him. He saw right through me. "Maybe a little," I admitted, my voice barely a whisper.

"Why?" His voice was softer now, almost coaxing. He leaned in a little closer, and I could smell the faint scent of cologne and cigarettes on him. It was intoxicating.

I looked up, and there was no escaping the intensity in his eyes. They were dark, almost black, and they had this way of making me feel like I was the only person in the room. "You're... different," I said, my voice catching. "You make me... feel different."

I hadn't meant to say that. The words slipped out before I could stop them, and immediately I regretted it. The tension between us crackled, and I felt like the ground was about to disappear beneath my feet.

Javier's eyes darkened further, his gaze now smoldering. "Different, huh?"

I nodded, unable to find my voice.

"Good different, or bad different?" he asked, his voice a husky whisper.

I swallowed hard. "Good," I whispered, though I wasn't sure if it was the right word. It felt too small for what I felt around him.

Something shifted in his expression, and for a split second, I thought he was going to close the distance between us. His eyes dropped to my lips, and my breath hitched.

But then, just as quickly, he straightened up, his jaw tightening. "Aurora," he said, his voice low, almost like a warning. "You have no idea what you're saying."

I blinked, feeling the weight of his words. "I know."

"No," he said firmly, stepping back slightly, though his eyes never left mine. "You don't."

I could feel the sudden shift in the air between us. He was pulling away, retreating behind that wall of his, the one I knew he used to keep people out. He was so close and yet so far, and it made something inside me ache.

Before I could say anything else, the door opened behind us, the bell jangling loudly as a group of customers walked in. I stepped back, breaking the tension as reality returned, and Javier turned his attention away from me, his posture relaxing as if nothing had happened.

I watched him walk toward the door, the broad lines of his shoulders tense under his shirt. Just before he stepped outside, he glanced back at me, his eyes meeting mine one last time.

"Take care, Aurora," he said softly.

And then he was gone, leaving me standing behind the counter, my heart racing, my mind spinning.