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There was something about him.
Something that James couldn’t quite figure out.
Maybe it was the fact he showed up everyday at nine. Not a minute late. Or maybe it was the fact he almost always tried something different. And sometimes the drinks were so foul that James felt like he was committing a crime just by making them. It could also be the fact that he always gave James a different name.
It usually followed themes. Last week he went for writers. Lovecraft on Monday. Shelley on Tuesday. Byron, Stroker, and lastly Austen, which James was confused by.
He never came on weekends, which were the days James didn’t work. He knew that because he asked his coworkers. Remus had smirked as he replied. “No, Prongs, your weird crush never shows up on the weekend shifts. Why don’t you write your number on the cup? Make a fucking move.”
James had rolled his eyes and given him the finger, “I’m not interested in him. I was just wondering.”
Remus still teased him, but James laughed and ignored. He wasn’t interested. He was… curious. That’s all. He just wanted to find out what was about the dark haired man that made his stomach turn.
It was five minutes past nine, James noticed, his eyes glued to the door of the coffee shop. He was late. Not that James cared. He didn’t. It’s just that he might have died. He was never late.
“What if he was run over by a car? Or if he forgot to blow out a candle last night and his house caught on fire?” James asked Sirius, who rolled his eyes and kept making Minnie’s order, another one of their regulars. “Maybe— Maybe he fell down the stairs and is out there somewhere bleeding out his skull and dying. And I would never know.”
“Why do you care, again, James?” Lily piped in from the register next to him.
He shrugged his shoulders, “He gives great tips. And it’s Monday, I want to know the name theme for the week.”
Lily was about to quip back when the bell rang and James saw him walking in, chest heaving and eyes wide. Oh, no. Fuck! He wasn’t wearing his usual office clothes. The tailored suits and boring ties. No.
Maybe that was it.
That’s what was wrong with him. The thing James couldn’t quite figure out. He was always wearing the wrong clothes. And it never made sense. It was almost like a costume.
Fuck. James couldn’t breathe.
The client — that’s all he was, a client! — walked over to James, breathless, much like James, although for very different reasons. His hair was dripping wet, a lot darker than usual, and without its usual amount of gel.
It was wild and all over the place. But unlike James’, it seemed purposeful. It fits. It wasn’t messy. It was just… It fit him.
He was wearing a loose band tee and jeans, paired with combat boots and, oh God, his hand was adorned with more rings than James could count. It felt like he was seeing the man for the first time.
“Stop drooling, Prongs,” Sirius whispered in his ear, chuckling.
“Fuck off,” James hissed back, watching as the man starting walking towards him.
And the closer he got the more of him James could smell. Oh, shit, maybe there was more than one something about him. He itched at his wrist, feeling the scent stickers he wore everyday, wondering if before today the man also wore them.
James took scent blockers every morning, but he also wore special patches in his wrists to help more. He didn’t like making anyone aware of his Omega status.
Until today he thought his favorite — yeah, whatever he might like him a little, tiny bit — client was a beta. But maybe he was wrong.
“I’m late,” He said, leaning on the counter and taking a deep breath, “I quit my fucking job last Friday. And I turned off all my alarms. ‘Cause I don’t have to wake up at mother-fucking six am anymore.”
The closer he got the more James wanted to die. He smelled like rain. No. He smelled like the earth after the rain. Like a storm. And James wanted to lean closer and take a whiff. To bury his nose in the man’s neck and just stay there.
Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck.
James smiled, trying not to breathe, “Because you’re unemployed.”
“Yup,” He gave James a crooked smile, “Told my dad to fuck off in the middle of a conference and left. The old fucker almost had a heart attack, which would have been great, cause then I would be rich, instead of jobless. But life can’t be perfect.”
“No it can’t. But you look like you’re enjoying the unemployed life. It suits you,” The man’s smile got bigger, almost dangerous, and God, James wanted to go hide. “Well, what can I get for you today?” He asked, swallowing down the lump in his throat.
“A venti green tea frappuccino with a strawberry smoothie base, two pumps of caramel, three espresso shots, and topped with whipped cream and a caramel drizzle.”
What the fuck.
James heard Sirius groaning loud from his side, watching the client with a pained expression on his face, “Why, man? Why?”
But he only shrugged and James chuckled, “Name for the order?”
“Barty,” The man said, smirking, but his cheeks had a red tint to them. James furrowed his brows, trying to figure out what was the theme this time.
“What’s the name about?” James asked, curious.
“It was my father’s, and the fucker felt so self important he gave it to me as well. Asshole.”
James’ eyes went wide, “Wait! That’s your name? Your real name? Your name is Barty?”
Barty scratched his neck and nodded, “Well, that’s a nickname. But… I have tickets for a football game tomorrow and if you go with me, I might tell you my full name.”
James felt his heart beating faster, and he nodded quickly, “Yes!” He almost shouted, and grimaced, hearing Lily laughing next to him and watching Barty smile wider, a pleased look in his eyes. “I mean— Yeah, sure. Why not.”
“Give me your hand,” Barty asked and James furrowed his brow, “Pretty please?”
He rolled his eyes and extended his arm. Barty grabbed a pen from the cup in front of the register and took James’ hand in his, pushing his sleeves up. Oh, shit. James saw the moment Barty noticed the scent-blocker patches.
Barty looked up at him, “I kinda figured. You forgot to use it one day about a month ago. I stopped using mine after I quit.”
James nodded, his throat unable to make words.
Barty just chuckled and started writing his number in James’ forearm with the pen, drawing a winking face at the end of it. James rolled his eyes and nodded.
“Call me tonight, and tomorrow I’ll pick you up after work and change your life.”
James raised his brows, “I thought you were taking me to a game.”
“Yeah, but I’ll be there and trust me, Jamie,” James fought back the ungodly noise that tried to leave his lips, “A date with me will completely change the way you look at life.”
Sirius called Barty’s name and handed him his God-awful order, winking at James before leaving them.
“You’re making big promises Barty, are you sure you can keep them?”
The man tapped his finger on the table, and James forced his eyes to not stare at the rings in long fingers. Shit. He looked. Look away. He forced his eyes up again, and Barty raised his eyebrow, but said nothing.
He laughed, putting a big bill on the tip jar and blew James a kiss, “Wear something cute.”
James laughed and shouted as Barty left, “I’m always cute, you fucker.”
The coffee shop was mostly empty after he left and the silence lasted a whole second before Sirius and Lily started laughing at him.
“I thought you weren’t interested?” Lily asked.
He looked at her and responded with a serious expression, “He was wearing rings. Multiple.”
James looked at the number on his forearm and smiled. He was so fucked. Hopefully the good kind of fucked.