I didn’t know there was such a thing as a “butch” coffee shop, but I learned otherwise when I parked at Jet Fuel Café. Geometric art deco lines and metal chairs that, at least from the outside, looked less than comfortable. I noticed Leo get out of a burgundy Jaguar. Wow.
“I told you to wear that cologne, buster,” Leo said. “I didn’t tell you to wear anything else.”
Holy cow, that was forward. I looked around the rainy parking lot to see if anyone had heard. One older lady seemed to be hurrying to her vehicle more than warranted by the drizzle.
“Sorry I didn’t follow orders,” I said, smiling. Why did I say that? I should have just said, “Hey, ease up, Tarzan” or something with backbone. Why is the most submissive answer the one that flies out of my mouth?
Inside, he bought me a decaf a
