Starbucks Boy

I pull into the Starbucks parking lot, I feel like I could throw up.
I haven’t been there in awhile. Because I knew that it didn’t matter what time of day I chose to go, he would just so happen to be working. We aren’t currently speaking to eachother – actually, to be technical, he is not speaking to me and I am not speaking to him.
And I didn’t want to see him.
I still don’t.
Except I do.
I think a part of me desperately wanted him to be there so I could see him, though another part of me feared he would be there and I’d have to see him.
I had worn my super-mini-skirt, just in case.

I scan the employee parking lot as I park in the customer parking lot.
His car isn’t there.
But I am neither relieved by this, nor am I particularly distraught.
Because I still can’t decide whether I do or don’t want to see him.
I guess when I do see him is when I’ll figure that out.

(or I could just call him – however, this would involve me speaking to him, and I’m not speaking to him, so…)