Chapter Two
Evelyn
“Dad, you need to eat.” I say into the phone as I walk, my tone clipped. I’m hoping that if I’m firm and ask him enough times, he’ll listen.
“I have eaten.” He snaps, his voice muffled by sleep.
“If cigarettes and beer counted, my job would be a whole lot easier.” I snip back, my nerves fraying at the edges. I sidestep another early riser who barrels past. It’s Monday morning, seven a.m. to be precise, and I have a meeting with Professor Callaway. A meeting I need to be caffeinated for and arrive early to make a good impression.
“I ate!” My father groans, reminding me he’s still on the call. I hear a rustle of sheets and then, “Evelyn, it’s seven in the fucking morning. I need sleep, not food.” He’s slurring his words, dragging out the syllables as if they’re too heavy to say in a single, well-paced sentence.
I shake my head and bite back a retort, swallowing it down before it has the chance to escape. “I have a lot to do today.” I remind him, not that he cares. “Now is the only time I have to remind you. Please,” I beg. “Just do this one thing for me and eat.”
“I don’t need a fucking babysitter.” He growls, his anger drowning out reason, the wave of it coming on as quick as the tides. The thing is, I know he doesn’t mean it. He’s a drunk who can’t handle his emotions.
“I know you don’t.” I lie, hoping it will settle the current of his anger.
After a breath, his slurred speech settles, softening into drunk induced love. “You’re such a good kid, Linny.” He pauses. “I’m so proud of you.” He mumbles after a second.
My stomach twists, uncomfortable with the praise. The thing is, with him, his hatred and violence shifts to love and praise in the blink of an eye. His emotions, his moods, everything is unstable with him, flickering between love and hate like a broken light. He may love me now, but he could just as easily switch and hate me in the blink of an eye.
It’s draining.
“Eat dad. You need something to soak up all that booze.” I say with a soft sigh. “I got to go but I’ll come visit soon, okay?”
“Okay.” He burps. “Love you.”
“Yea, you too.” I hang up a second later and immediately push away the worry that stirs. I need to focus. The town is only a twenty-minute walk away from CSU, but the campus has everything a student could want day to day, including a quirky little coffee shop called The Bean Queen. I smile as I spot the pink and purple building and quicken my steps, the promise of caffeinated energy spurring me on.
I walk through the doors, almost groaning at the smell of chocolate and toffee that blends with coffee beans and steamed milk. It smells so good. After spending all day and night yesterday chatting with Bree, having a dedicated catch-up day, and then having a fashion panic this morning when I couldn’t decide on the perfect outfit for my meeting, I’m in desperate need of coffee.
I wipe a hand down my shirt—in the end, Bree chose my outfit. A black tank, an open white gauzy shirt, and my nicest pair of washed blue jeans. It’s business casual with a college student flare – the perfect outfit for a meeting with my boss/professor.
Usually, CSU doesn’t allow sophomores to be assistants, but I called the Art History department months ago, practically begging them to give me a chance, dazzling them with my knowledge of the subject. Eventually, they accepted. It doesn’t pay, but it does give me a rather generous helping of extra credits that I can use to graduate early. Like I said, my plan is in action, steamrolling ahead.
After ordering my coffee, I walk to the side, pulling out my phone to message Bree.
Evelyn: Ordered coffee. Trying not to freak out. Help. SOS
Bree: Breathhh sexy professor incoming
Evelyn: Not helping!
Bree: You will be fineeeee have fun with professor smokeshow ; )
I smile down at my phone, shaking my head. For the first time, I wonder what he looks like. Surely, he can’t be that hot right? In my head, the only thing I can picture is an old, balding man with a stern look to him.
The barista shouts my name. I grab my iced latte, the condensation wetting my hand, and turn to walk out the door. As I walk, I type out another message to my dad, the word EAT in big, capital letters that I hope will get him to listen.
Which is why I don’t see the big, wall of muscle barrelling through the door before I’m crashing into him. My drink spills down his front and he curses as the beige liquid soaks into his crisp white shirt. I stare as the drink spreads, soaking more of him, and my cheeks are suddenly on fire.
“I am so sorry.” I say, clutching my now empty coffee cup and look up.
My breath hitches at the sight of the man in front of me. He is exactly the type of man I would do anything to paint, every inch of him made up of angles and lines and pure muscle. If I couldn’t see the truth of his skin, I would think him a sculpture made of stone, carved by the same hands that made the masterpieces of the ancient world.
A man made with the beauty of stone in mind.
I bite my lip, trying to ignore the warmth pooling at my core. I refuse to let a man, albeit a gorgeous one, send my mind into a flurry of need. I swallow against the dryness of my mouth and focus on what he’s saying.
“Don’t be sorry.” He snaps. “Do better. What kind of idiotic fool walks around with their nose in their phone.”
My mouth jerks open as the desire is chased away by anger. “Did you just call me an idiot.” I narrow my eyes.
“No. I called you an idiotic fool.” His nostrils flare and his eyes darken in anger, turning their forest green depths into something with shadows.
“How dare—” I splutter but he interjects.
“You know what, I don’t have time for this.” He growls, jaw clenching. And with that, he turns and a wave of something woodsy and fresh like the forest hits me as he storms away.
Jackass.
I should have looked where I was going, but I said sorry. What more could I have done? Heading back to the barista, I order another drink, in even more need for a coffee than I was before.
What a stellar start to the day.