I kept just missing her in the coffee shop. She was a short, anger-edged Wicker Park hipster with apple-red dyed hair cut in a bob, a little silver stud on her left nostril, and freckles. She always looked up and smiled, already throwing things into her backpack and on the way out the door. The other day I managed to brush her shoulder in the doorway as she was heading out and I was heading in. She almost stopped. But she just said "Sorry," surreptitiously and bolted for the train station. Yesterday though, I caught her.

I'd only seen her three times in two weeks, but it was enough for me to make Filter my regular coffee shop. Filter's one of the last holdouts for Chicago smokers. They roast their own coffee in the back and grill panini at twice the recommended temperature as a half-hearted attempt to conceal the smell in a tobacco-free town.

I suppose if I said something to the management they'd stop everyone from smoking for as long as I was there, but I wasn't going to rain on anyone's parade. Even I had to concede that it's part of the atmosphere of the place. Literally.Yesterday was one of those perfect, sunny, late spring days, the kind that lends itself to daydreaming. I started thinking about the girl in the coffee shop and decided I'd actually try to meet her. The worst that could happen would be I miss her, in which case I'd spend the afternoon out in the sun. I left the office a couple of hours early and caught the train to Damen.

As luck would have it, when I walked in she was there, crouched over a green covered edge-worn paperback, her painted fingernails poised just so on a the handle of a coffee mug. I stopped momentarily, trying to read the title of the book, and she looked up and smiled. That was why I could pick her out of a crowd – that smile. I didn't even order coffee before putting my bag down at her table.

"Hi, I'm Josh. Sorry to split your table, but it's really full in here. Can I refill your coffee while I'm up?"

"Sure," she said, her smile more of a quizzical smirk. It didn't break into wide grin until her face was already buried back in the book. The book was open to the same page when I came back with the coffee.

"Thanks. I'm Lori, by the way. Just taking a quick break, actually, so I can talk for a bit. Been meaning to say hi to you next time I saw you."

"You work here?"

"Mmm-hmm. People-watching. I'm a fashion designer. I'm actually based over in Lincoln Park, but don't tell anyone here that. They'd never buy anything from me again." She sipped her coffee. I don't remember exactly what we talked about. I'm never good at remembering conversations, but we sat and talked for hours. Her book sat on the table, unread, and my coffee got cold twice. Finally the conversation hit a lull, and I seized the opportunity.

"I don't know off the top of my head what's going on tonight, but I'd love to keep hanging out with you."

"I've got to work later tonight. We're rolling out a new campaign tomorrow."

"So what about tomorrow night? The State Street theatres have a couple of good shows on right now. Wicked and that Monty Python thing." I was desperately rattling off a dozen half-cocked plans for dinner and a movie or a show, anything. Chicago's good that way -- plenty to do at a moment's notice.

Lori bit her lower lip before she spoke. The barest flash of white, and I imagined two things: what I hoped she was about to say and the feel of those teeth baring down on my shoulder, leaving marks I might feel for days. Those marks I'd be embarrassed and half-proud to expose in the locker room in front of all the straight-laced family men who'd forgotten what it was like to have a woman that passionate about you.

"You know, Josh, I'd love to say I want to get to know you better, go out to dinner, have a cup of coffee, whatever. And I do want to – I want all that. You're really cool. But you've been sitting here across from me for two hours driving me absolutely insane with lust, and I just want to take you home right now and fuck you until you can't think anymore."