It was a warm summer day when Josh walked in to the café I was working at in Philly. The café was a perfect combination of coffee shop, bar, and restaurant. It was like Cheers, except that it was open all day long and the staff was much younger and cuter. The clientele was an interesting mix of obnoxious fanny-packed tourists, actors dressed as Ben Franklin and Betsy Ross who entertained the obnoxious tourists, first dates and locals. The locals, of course, were always our favorite. They were friendly, tipped the most and never asked us idiotic questions like "where the hell is my soup?" or "how on earth are you out of strawberry smoothies?"
The best kinds of regulars were the ones that were cute and hit on us. It was the ideal place to be for single girls – there was a never-ending plethora of men that streamed through the café hanging out for hours while they read the paper or worked on their latest novel. I had just broken up with somebody so I was eager to get back in the game. Dating Disaster: A Guy, A Girl, Her Gas
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When Josh walked in, all the girls let out a collective "OMG!" gasp. He was well over six feet tall, with short brown hair, piercing blue eyes and full sleeve tattoos. For a group of women who all harbored a predilection for all things rocker-related, he was a vision – a vision that I wanted, other girls be damned.
Thankfully, I didn't have to fight too hard because Georgina the hostess, unaware of my plot, sat him in my section. Had she known I wanted to snag him, I'm sure she would have sat him anywhere else.
"Hey, I'm Rachel. Do you know what you'd like to order?" That sentence sounds wholly unsexy when written, but trust me it sounded very flirty when it came out of my mouth.
"Hey Rachel," he said with a sh*t-eating grin. (That sort of grin is the surest sign that a guy is interested in hooking up. As I got older, I realized it's also the surest sign that said guy will NOT be relationship material.) "I'd like to order a really hot cappuccino."
"Okay, coming right up," I said with a similarly scatalogical-themed grin.
Since the café was relatively empty, I decided to sit down and chat with him. "So do you live around here?" I asked.
"Actually, I live in Northern Liberties. But I work down the street at Spice City." Spice City was the latest and hottest Asian fusion restaurant in the city.
"Are you a waiter too?" I asked.
"Nope, I'm a chef."
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Now I was officially swooning. He was hot and he could cook. Could it get any better? We continued chatting until the patrons at the other tables started coming up to me and asking for things like forks and glasses of water. So annoying. Read more...
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