The smack-slurp is loud, easily audible above the roar of baristas who banter in partial truths. Yeah, I come here too much. It’s a problem. 

I don’t even realize what is happening until her finger is aggressively curving the arc of her paper cup. She is shamelessly scraping out syrup and sucking it off her finger. I glance around in shyness, under the radar. As if I’m whispering to a best friend I wonder, Am I the only one seeing this?

Back in she goes, another swipe, another lick, and I’m doing everything I can to force my eyes into submission in my own space.
She cares not as she snaps the lid in place and goes back to her social media scrolling.

That’s when I look at my cup. I mean, I could. She did. No one really saw, though we all know it wouldn’t have mattered.

I rise up, my shoulders are bold. “Could I have a venti water?”

I’ll save it for a day I choose the drive-thru.