I followed Michael up the stairs attempting not to look at his butt as he climbed them in front of me.
It was weird that you really couldn't hear much of the coffee shop bustle from downstairs. It was like it's own private space.
I wonder what he uses it for besides his music lessons. Michael waved to the barista behind the counter as we passed through the tables and people and finally made it outside.
"So, whats Bea short for?" He asked me breaking the awkward silence as I followed him across the street.
"Oh, it's short for Beatrice," I said pronouncing it the proper Italian way, BAY-UH-TREE-CHAY. The car lights flashed as he unlocked it and walked around to the passenger side to open my door for me.
"Thank you. How chivalrous," I said dramatically as I climbed in, immediately regretting how corny I sounded.
I saw him chuckle as he walked across the front of the car and slid into the driver's seat. His car was clean inside, another sign that he wasn't your typical boy. I buckled my seatbelt and he did the same after starting the car. He turned the radio down to a comfortable volume and pulled into the flow of traffic on the street.
"So, do you always go by Michael, because I heard others call you Mikey?"
I could feel myself starting to sweat despite the a/c being on in the car, and I adjusted the vent closest to me to blow more directly onto me.
"Well I go by Michael, Mikey, Mike...it really just depends on the person," he said turning up the a/c a notch on account of me fixing my vent.
Ugh, how embarrassing. Now he knows I'm sweating. Thank God I wore the stick of deodorant that Ale left at my house. I feel like men's deodorant works best when you know you're going to be sweating. Plus, most of the time it's cheaper. I should really just start buying men's deodorant.
"What would you prefer I called you?" I asked.
He turned to look at me as we sat at a red light and smirked.
"I can think of a few things, but how about we start with Mikey or Michael."
He cocked his pierced eyebrow and winked before turning his head back to the road.
"Oh, gosh. Was that supposed to turn me on or something, Mikey?"
"Did it work?" He asked chuckling.
"No," I stated with a chuckle as well.
The car was silent again and I looked back over at Mikey. His biceps were flexed as he turned the wheel and I focused on his tattoo.
"What's the tattoo of? I mean, what city?"
"Huh? Oh! Right. It's of Sydney," he said glancing down at it as if he forgot it was there.
"Like Sydney, Australia?" I asked.
"Yeah, exactly like Sydney, Australia."
"That's cool," I said nodding my head. I wanted to ask what the tattoo meant but contrary to popular belief a lot of people don't actually like constantly being asked what their tattoos mean.
"I got it to remember where I came from," he continued still focused on the road.
"Wait, what? You're from Australia?" I mean it made sense. I knew there was something off about his accent. But he doesn't talk like a stereotypical Australian.
"I know, I know, I don't really sound like it anymore. But yeah, my dad moved us to LA when I was fourteen, and I've been here ever since."
"Wow," I stared out the window in thought, questions buzzing through my brain with curiosity.
"So, when did you move to SD?" I asked, assuming he lives here since he owns a business here.
"I actually just moved here about three months ago when I bought the coffee shop."
"No way. That's awesome. Why did you choose San Diego? I mean don't get me wrong, I love SD."
"Um, it's kind of a long story actually. But mainly I wanted to get out of LA but not too far. If that makes sense?" He asked looking at me.
"Yeah, I get it. I went to UCLA for university. So I really get it. It was just far enough from my family."
The edges of his mouth curled up slightly as I spoke, making me focus on his facial hair. It was scruffy but neat. I wonder if it feels as rough as it looks. Sitting beside him in the car I had a closer view of all the ear piercings he had. I cringed, thinking about how painful they must have been. I cried like a baby just getting my earlobes pierced and he had one that went diagonally across the top of his ear.
"So, Bay-uh-tree-chay. That's not very American. And I already know you speak another language other than English."
"Yeah, don't even get me started on how much I dislike my name. It's such an old lady name. There are tons of pretty Italian names that my parents could've given me, but they had to pick like the worst one."
"I don't think it's bad at all. I think it's pretty. I like the way you pronounce it," he said smiling at the road.
His compliment made my stomach flip. He thinks my name is pretty. No one ever says they think my name is pretty. Well except my parents, of course.
"Thanks," I muttered.
We pulled into the parking lot and circled around for an open spot.
"Yes!" He exclaimed when someone in the very front put their car into reverse and left.
After putting the car into park he unbuckled his seat belt and swiftly exited the car. He walked around to my side and opened the door for me.
"Thanks," I smiled at how much of a gentleman he was being.
"I am capable of opening doors though," I added as I stepped out of the car and set my purse strap on my shoulder.
"I don't doubt it, but as long as I'm around you won't have to."
I rolled my eyes at his cheesy statement and walked through the restaurant door that he held open for me.
"Hi! How can I help you?" A young girl at the hostess bar greeted.
"Reservation for Michael," he said looking back at me when the girl swept her eyes over me.
"Right this way," she said carrying two menus.
We sat at a small table across from each other and I wrapped my purse around the chair's back before scooting it into the table.
"Your server will be with you shortly," the hostess said before turning and walking away.
I noticed that Mikey didn't watch her walk away like the guys have done on previous dates that I'd been on. That's a good sign; he didn't stare at her butt but instead focused on me.
"Do you know what you want? I've only been here once."
"Um, yeah, I'm just gonna do the three Tacos Asada. They're really good," I said not bothering to look at my menu since I've been here countless times before.
"Okay. Cool, yeah, that sounds good," he said searching the menu.
"Do you want a drink? I'm driving," he asked looking up at me.
"Um, no thanks, I don't drink," I stated, waiting for him to ask the usual follow-up question, 'really, why not?'.
"No shit, why not? I figured being an Italian and all you'd be into that. You're over twenty-one aren't you?"
"Yeah, I just turned twenty-four. We're pretty religious in my family, so we don't drink."
"Okay, cool, I can respect that. I don't really drink either."
A waiter walked up to our table and took our orders for food and drinks and we were left sitting in silence.
"So..." I began, trailing off as we stared at each other.
"So...you grew up in San Diego, your whole life," I nodded yes, "and then you went to college at UCLA, and now you're living back at home?"
"That would be correct, yes. I, uh, did four years at UCLA, majored in Business Management and minored in Fine Art."
"Hm, what made you do that? Didn't want to be a tattoo artist?"
"No, I really don't. I mean it's cool and all, but I don't want to do that for the rest of my life. I'd rather run my own business. My dad, uh, who owns the tattoo shop, actually wants me to take it over. Which is why I minored in Fine Art. He thought if I perfected how to draw I'd end up wanting to tattoo and would do that until I ran the business once he passed it on to me."
He nodded and processed what I said.
"So, what kind of business would you want to run?"
"I honestly don't know. I guess I'm just...I don't know, it's dumb."
"I'm sure it's not," he said.
The waiter arrived with our waters and I sipped on it as I thought.
"Well, I just kind of want to do my own thing. I want to work for something and know that I earned it. Not that it was just given to me."
"Yeah, I understand. That's why I opened my own coffee shop. I wanted something that I did myself and I could call my own."
"Exactly. So...how'd you get into the coffee business?"
"Hm," he chuckled, "now that is a long story for another time."
I sighed and nodded my head. Wait, this means he wants to go on more than just one date. I smiled to myself and looked around the restaurant. It wasn't too packed surprisingly, especially considering it was a lunch hour on a Saturday.
"How long have you been playing the guitar?" I asked, remembering all the instruments he had in the basement.
"Oh, probably for at least ten years. I stopped for a while, but then got back into about six years ago."
"So do you teach lessons to a lot of kids?"
"No, not really, just a handful."
"Oh. Cool."
"Do you play any instruments?"
"No, I'm musically challenged. Like big time. I can't sing, I can't really dance, and I definitely suck at playing instruments," I chuckled.
"Hm, well maybe you just haven't had the right teacher," he smiled.
"Maybe, but I wouldn't get your hopes up," I shrugged.
"We'll see."
The food arrived and the smell made me realize just how hungry I was. I tried hard to eat without making a mess and to make sure I didn't have food on my face or something embarrassing like that. When the check came I offered to pay for half, but he said not to worry about it.
"Consider it a birthday gift," he said smiling as he signed the receipt.
I rolled my eyes and he looked up to see my somewhat annoyed face.
"Look, if it's so important next time you can pay. Deal?"
"So, there's gonna be a 'next time'?"
"I mean, I want there to be," he said smiling.
"Me too," I said smiling back.