Vulnerable by Bonita Thompson Page B

article on the high-profile entrepreneur. Before she could start to peruse it, the bolder one of the two young men sharing the magazine section with her said, “Hello!” He held a race car magazine and an iced espresso drink, and wore a silly, immature grin. Right off, she detected that he was the type who took chances when it came to women solely because he had nothing to lose.
    D’Becca took her time meeting his startling green eyes. “Hello,” she said, but barely looked up from the magazine.
    He was young . Maybe twenty-six, if that. I don’t want to hurt his feelings, but I really am seriously not in the mood. The attention he’s giving me doesn’t make me feel any better about myself. D’Becca replaced Seattle on the shelf and she could see the guy’s lips start to form words—some corny, inexperienced, sad and pathetic line he used on every woman he tried too hard to pick up. She interrupted his generic introduction she had heard far too many times with, “Excuse me,” and walked around him.
    Why am I in here? Visibly bored, she started looking at titles displayed on a small table. She reached for a book and glanced over to the black guy from Café Neuf. He was toward the rear of the store at a picnic-style table stacked with “employee recommendations.” Curious, she watched him. Every time he picked up a book he read the blurbs on the back cover. She began to mimic his actions by picking up a book, pretending to be interested in the cover or the flap, and then replaced it and repeated the actionseveral times. When she looked back over to where Rawn was standing he was still there, taking a serious interest in the employee recommendations.
    On impulse, she approached him holding several magazines in her arms like she did schoolbooks when she was a child. “It’s you!”
    â€œExcuse me.” Rawn frowned.
    â€œYou were mean to me. Remember? At Café Neuf?”
    â€œMean?” Rawn chuckled. He pretended to be vague about having seen her at Café Neuf a week or so back and replaced the book on the table. “So, you live around here?”
    â€œYes. Do you?”
    â€œI do.”
    â€œAre you into poetry?” D’Becca retrieved the book Rawn replaced on the table moments before.
    â€œActually, I’ve been trying to ease thirteen-year-olds into it. It’s good to start early as possible with poetry. Besides, the Internet—if it’s going in the direction I think that it is—it’s only a matter of time before it will eventually change the way young people learn. The influence, and well…Poetry won’t stand a chance if the Web changes the way we process information.”
    â€œYou’re an idealist, I see. Poetry’s a hard sell.”
    Amused, Rawn replied, “It can be.” He watched her looking over a poem from a book by Browning. “Listen, I was about to go and have a coffee. You want to join me?”
    â€œYou aren’t…Are you picking me up?”
    He chuckled, and her insinuation made Rawn feel awkward. “I asked if you’d like to join me for coffee.”
    â€œI came here to get a book for a friend. Why don’t I join you afterwards?”
    â€œOkay, sure,” his tone casual.
    D’Becca walked around him, flipping her hair off her slenderneck, throwing him that same attitude she exhibited at Café Neuf—uppity and insecure.
    Rawn sat at one of the tables in the bookstore’s small attic café. He looked around to see if he could seek out D’Becca in the bookstore below, but he was unable to spot her. Did she leave? Thoughtlessly, he glanced at his watch, and his waiting for D’Becca felt much longer than it naturally was. Out of the blue, she appeared at the table, and came across in a way that suggested to Rawn she had looked all over to find him.
    â€œThere you are,” she said in a cavalier voice.
    She sat in the