Reddit Stories 2019

Match Bus Mobile: Coffee Date

Coffee?

Sure.

I stared at the messages, trying to organize my thoughts. Mike's perfect nose stared me down next to his message. Staring at me. Taunting me. It knew I couldn't resist the temptation of danger. Stupid nose knew how to pull my strings.

Slowly rolling into the empty southwest diner, I rolled the truck to a stop. The parking lot was empty, save for a van that obviously hid his FBI buddies and a couple sedans. The lights flickered, briefly plunging the world into complete darkness every few seconds. Inside, I saw my target. Somehow, he took up the whole booth as he scrolled through his phone.

I was right, though. His shirt did fit just tight enough around his pecs without highlighting his nipples. It looked expensive too. Like, way too much for a shirt.

If I wanted to, I could end the whole thing right here. I trusted my aim and I researched the diner ahead of time. No bulletproof glass. One shot and I could rid myself of the date and the FBI. One shot.

I ignored the ding from my phone as I stepped out of the car. There was a possibility he didn't remember me.

I tucked my pistol in my purse anyway.

The smell of coffee and pancakes hit me immediately. The warm diner felt cozy and inviting, like coming home after a long day. I would have curled up on one of the booths and gone to sleep if I didn't already had plans. Or if that wasn't a weird thing.

Taking a moment to steel myself, I slid into the booth opposite of Mike. His green-or-blue eyes scanned me as I sat, no doubt checking me out or looking for weak spots. Flattering either way. He smiled, showing off his perfect teeth, and tucked his phone away into his jacket pocket. He wore a shoulder holster like on TV, though his was empty. His inviting smile almost made me forget he was, technically, hunting me down to bring me to justice. The kind of justice that ended with me dead.

A new scar ran across his cheek.

"Hello, Zoey," he said. His Australian accent was subtle, but thicker than I remembered from New York. Of course, I was focused on other things in New York. Things like jumping out of a window.

My phone chimed again.

"Mike," I greeted.

We let silence fill the air as the waitress poured a couple cups of coffee. I pretended to read the menu. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched him do the same. I yearned for the comforting grip of my gun. Therapy would probably help me understand why I found the murdertool comforting, but I assumed it had something to do with being an assassin.

"So, Zoey, your profile says you're an artist."

"A wannabe," I corrected. "I went to school for it. Sculpture specifically."

"So what do you do now?"

"Consulting," I responded without a beat. It was the trained response. Mike, of course, knew what I meant. Possibly. Maybe five years and hair dye was enough to trick him into thinking I was someone else.

Maybe he was trying to get me to slip up.

"Consulting, huh? How'd you get started doing that?"

"Okay, cut the shit, Mike," I said, dropping both pretense and the menu. "What's the game here?"

Mike glanced to the waitress and cook by the counter, offering them a pleasant smile. After a moment, the pair nodded and returned to their conversation.

I quickly realized what an idiot I'd been. I let him set the location. Of course the FBI was pretending to be staff. Luckily, he sat by a window and, unlike New York, this one was at street level. All I had to do was wait for an opening.

My phone dinged.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Zoey."

"I know you've been assigned to me ever since New York. Why go through all of this trouble? You could have just met me out here with a SWAT team or whatever."

"I think you're confused."

"Fuck yeah I'm confused."

"When we met in New York, I was captivated by you. The brunette beauty who snuck past the bureau's best. When we matched, I knew it was fate. I'm not here to take you in, Zoey. I'm here for you."

He offered a charming smile with his words. I took a deep breath and returned it.

I had him.

"You don't have your gun," I said calmly.

"What?"

"When you put your phone away, I saw your holster was empty. You probably left it in your car out there, or you'd thought you could take me without it."

"Zoey, I don't know what you're talking about." Mike's nervous laugh told me I was on the right track. I kept my eyes locked on his, but I could see his hands inching toward the silverware. The knife would be too dull to do any damage, but the fork would hurt.

"Mike's either dead, or you knew I was on the app." The thought of Mike being dead hit me hard. Way harder than it should have. He was on the other side; I shouldn't have felt anything for him. Yet my heart hurt a little. Five years of cat and mouse and I didn't even get to see him off. "You look just like him. Almost."

"Zoey, I really don't-"

"Oh, Jesus fuck, man. I was blonde in New York."

'Mike' lunged at me, spoon in hand, but he was slow and sloppy. And he chose a spoon for a weapon. The shots rang out. Two back to back. Bang bang! The man formerly known as Mike sprawled on the table, bleeding from the gaping holes in his chest, and crying in pain. If he was lucky, the wait staff would call an ambulance and he might live.

If he wasn't, then I'd have one less worry.

I didn't need to read the texts from my handler. I knew the drill. He'd been assigned to take me down. He even did some research. Just not enough. My handler put him on my list. It was common.

It's done.

I nodded to the waitress and cook as I left. Unable to restrain myself, I grinned.

"Bad date."