I'm Not Okay (I Promise)

"Geez, I don't see why Mayor Sanders couldn't just get his own coffee!" I grumble under my breath. "It's Monday morning, and I'm already late. Plus, I've got to file all those police reports from the Main Street Shooting he's been bothering me about. If he wants his endless, tedious, reports filed then maybe he shouldn't be making me send his girlfriend apology flowers and get him coffee!" I've gone into full on rant mode now, my bushy eyebrows knitted, and movements exaggerated, nearly yanking my change from the poor girl working the Starbucks register, her green eyes registering shock.
"Uh...Have a nice day?" The pink-and-redhead offers, and hands me my receipt.
Rolling my light brown eyes swirling with six am annoyance, I huff a rather insincere apology before rushing out the door and onto one of Eastern Baltimore's bustling streets. Ha, right. There's very few people roaming the streets at this hour, aside from the odd zombie-esque kid dragging their feet to school, police officers or newspeople trying to keep up with Baltimore's surprisingly high crime rate. The people of Baltimore, Maryland are not early risers, but they sure as hell are into the cover of night. Eh, what can I say? In the words of the immortal John Lennon, we're working class heroes.
Needless to say, I don't have any reservations about ducking and weaving. What's the worst that's gonna happe-
"Fuck!" I curse loudly, scrambling to my feet and praying my poor ass isn't bruised from some asshole knocking me over, and the Mayor's coffee not spilled, but alas, it seems I'm running low on my luck lately.
The (handsome, ooh- wait, not the time, Alex) stranger chuckles darkly, obviously trying to get his mind off the pain of having scalding cappuccino poured down your shirt front. Or, in his case, scalding cappuccino spilled all over your greasy, pre-stained mechanic's jumpsuit thing. It's called a jumpsuit, right?
I immediately go into a sort of panicked, babbling apology, despite the fact that the thing was already dirty as hell, and lead him to the nearest bench, just a ways down the street, in the community park. Then, I rush to get the garment off his shoulders so I could make sure he wasn't burned too awfully. When I pull off the top part of his jumpsuit and the badly soaked tank underneath, this guy's chest stops me in my tracks. Hot. Damn. My fingers twitch, wanting to run across that slightly hairy (but totally hot) expanse.
He must have noticed, because the sexy mechanic's next words shock me out of my reverie and into a blush. "Don't you think you should at least take me out on a date first? Maybe we could get some coffee?" The dark-haired mechanic jokes, his chocolate hued eyes swimming with amusement.
I try to scowl, but end up giggling anyway. Whatever, the guy's funny, you gotta give him that. "Shut up, I was making sure you were okay! I was worried I gave you, like, a third-degree burn or something 'cause I wasn't watching where I was going."
"I seriously doubt you can get a third-degree burn from coffee." He smirks.
"I digress."
"Alright, how about you give me your number and I call you when I decide how much I want to sue you for?"
I roll my eyes, pushing him playfully on the shoulder. "You can't sue somebody if you don't know their name, dork."
"Oh, okay. What was it, again?"
"Nice try, but now I'll never tell." I grin mischievously. This guy is fun to tease.
" I suppose I'll have to guess, then. Is it...," the lanky stranger pauses to think. "Keith?"
This shot in the dark earns the mechanic a patented Alex Gaskarth nose wrinkle of disgust. "Really? Keith has got to be one of the ugliest names in all existence."
As the mystery man laughs cutely at my reaction, I glance down at my watch, and the numbers 06:30 bring me back to the reality of my job and punctuality and having to go back and get more coffee and oh god, I am so dead. Shooting up out of my seat, I pull out a sharpie and scribble my name, number, and a hurried winky face on my acquaintance's palm, spewing out my excuse for such a rushed exit.
He nods, smirking, and I take that as my attractive cue to fucking book it outta there.
I am back at Starbucks before I realize my advances towards a near stranger were bolder than the bright red sharpie I wrote in. Oh well, I guess. Nothing to do now but hope for the best.
This cappuccino around, I smile at the cashier, and say "Thanks...Hayley."
The girl nods at me behind the register, looking relived that I wasn't attempting to rip my change from her hands, or talking to myself like a schizophrenic. Taking in a huge breath, I attempt to stay calm. Remember what happened last time you hurried. No, not the flirting with a hot guy part, the being extremely late to your job part!