Personally, Davey hated the taste of coffee.
However, Starbucks offered great benefits to college students and he loved his coworkers, so Davey learned to appreciate the aroma of coffee beans and steamed milk that he surrounded himself with every day of the week. (Except Sundays.)
Working at an on-campus Starbucks also worked out massively in his favor, because he knew everyone (because let's be honest, no one except english majors and the occasional lost law student could ever stand to drink that corporate crap) and all of his friends knew exactly where to find him, and it wouldn't cost them any gas money.
That's why Davey was very confused why a relaxed looking boy in a buttoned-up shirt and vest covered in paint splatters came into the shop one stifling hot August afternoon. The boy had a cap jammed on his head, pulled right over his ears. His eyes scanned the shop for a second before letting a dejected sigh escape and closing the small distance between him and the counter.
"Important date?" Davey asked, jokingly. The boy smiled slightly before stuffing his hands in his pockets and glancing up at the menu.
"Not really. I'm doing some visual work on someone's theme and genre final, and he said he would be here," He pulled his phone out of his pocket and sighed again. "10 minutes ago." His nose crinkled for the slightest moment, and Davey realized that holy smokes, a very cute boy was standing right in front of him. He quickly shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose and brushed his hands against his apron.
"W-Who's your friend? I'm in Manchester's class too." The boy nodded to himself, obviously either not hearing the question or choosing to ignore Davey.
"What drink will make me look like I mean business?" Davey started laughing at the ridiculousness of the question but stopped cold when he saw the serious look in his eyes. Clearing his throat and nodding vigorously, he turned around to stare at the menu behind him. No frappuccinos, he thought. He tended to think less of people who drank anything with more than three syllables and came with whipped cream during meetings. Tea won't work either, and nothing with caramel or flavored syrups. That left the boy with one of two options.
"Either an americano or straight black." The boy's face fell for a second before smiling tightly.
"Okay, I'll have a grande black coffee." Davey rang up his order and pulled the cup from the stack, then paused. The shop was practically empty. There was no reason to ask this boy his name, but Davey didn't want to go the rest of his visit giving him strange nicknames like Boy Who Make Me Blush, and Could Probably Get Me Into Bed. Making a quick decision, he poised his sharpie above the cup and looked at the boy, who had somehow managed to get himself distracted again.
"Do you have a name?" Davey asked, startling the boy out of his daydream.
"Hmm? Oh, yeah, it's Jack. I'd spell it for you, but I have a feeling an english major could probably figure that one out." He flashed a pearly white smile and Davey swore he could feel his heart jump into his throat. Scribbling the name down and turning around so he could start brewing the coffee, he heard a chair screech as it was pulled out from a table. As the pot started boiling, Davey fell into a daydream about Jack, perfect teeth and all. Hands were intertwining and lips were nearing each other when suddenly-
Ding. Davey groaned as he was interrupted by the doorbell. He turned around to see his friend Crutchie hobble through the door. He smiled and waved, pleased to see a familiar face he could talk about Jack with. Crutchie smiled quickly before dropping himself into a chair at the table Jack was sitting at, and Davey furrowed his brow. How could Crutchie know Jack? Then the realization that Jack was probably doing the art for Crutchie's final, and he got immensely jealous. All he could snag was some stoner kid who lived in the dorm next to his and wanted to make a quick buck. Davey wanted someone who was worried about looking professional, someone who cared enough to order the most boring drink on the menu. Then, the comprehension that Jack was trying to impress Crutchie came to Davey, and he started to laugh again. Crutchie was the kindest, most laid back person Davey had ever met. He was majoring in theatre and taking undergraduate classes for english, and all of his stories were always filled with fiction and fantasy. Crutchie was the type to be impressed by whether you could touch your nose with your tongue, not by how nicely you dressed for a meeting.
As Crutchie came up to the counter, he raised his eyebrows at Davey's quiet chuckling. "Did I miss the joke?"
Davey gestured toward Jack with his head, while pulling a venti cup from the stack. "Hottie over there is trying to impress you by ordering straight black. I've got it brewing right now. Chai tea frappe, extra whip. Right?"
Crutchie nodded and looked back and Jack. "Hottie? I don't see it."
Davey's jaw fell open. "Don't see it? Literal human perfection is standing right in front of you, and you 'don't see it'?"
"Ya know, if you'd stop drooling over the guy, you'd probably notice this his coffee is done." Davey turned on his heel to look at slightly overdone coffee, the red button flashing at the top of the machine informing him that the drink was very much done. He sighed and poured it into the cup, gathering the two dollars and ten cents Jack had paid for the coffee.
"Jack?" He called out, but Jack was already out of his seat and reaching for the cup. He stopped, however, when he saw the money being pressed into his palm.
"What's this for?" Jack asked, tilting his head.
Davey sighed again, pushing the money harder into his hand. (Maybe it was to steady himself. This contact was making him lightheaded.) "I burned your coffee. You shouldn't have to pay for something you can't drink."
Jack smiled, looking at the cup in his hand. He leaned into Davey, lips going dangerously close to his ear. Davey's eyes went wide, and he tried backing up but Jack's free hand was gripping his forearm, hard. "Look. I don't even like coffee. I'm just trying to impress Andrew. Keep your money and think of it as a tip. Put it to good use." Jack pulled away, and Davey automatically missed his heat. As Jack began to walk away, Davey opened his mouth.
"Maybe I'll buy you something that you actually want to drink." Jack turned around, eyes wide and a small gasp escaping his mouth. Davey reached over and grabbed his hand, scribbling his number with the sharpie. Jack grinned and grabbed a small fistful of Davey's shirt and leaned in to plant a kiss on his cheek. Davey hoped everyone in the shop couldn't hear his heart beating wildly as he walked back to Crutchie, who was smirking.
"When did Davey Jacobs get so bold?" He chided, reaching for his money.
"Shut up, and make sure you say only good things about me."