Chapter 3 #2
And she’s beautiful in that completely unfair, impossible way.
Her long, curly auburn hair that I can’t help but stare at, and her clear blue eyes, framed by ridiculously long lashes, which have this warmth that makes everyone want to be around her.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wish, just once in a while, that it could all be as easy for me as it is for her.
But then I notice her eyes boring into mine, and lighting up as usual, and I push those thoughts aside.
Because for all the ways we are different, we are also the same.
“You won’t believe who is sitting at table two,” she says in a hushed voice.
I lean closer, my voice low. “Who?”
Just as I am about to look, she grips my jaw and spins my head round. “Brace yourself first,” she says with such seriousness I almost laugh.
I give a quick nod and roll my eyes. “I’m officially braced.”
As I glance in their direction, my breath gets caught in my throat.
The three guys sit there, seemingly unaware of the attention they’re getting.
Perhaps they’re used to it. They’re… impossible.
Features chiselled like marble, hair styled to messy perfection, eyes that could rival the stars.
It’s almost annoying, really. I’m not even exaggerating.
It’s as if they’ve walked straight out of a dream, or one of those nineteenth-century, Victorian-era books.
Their beauty is completely otherworldly.
It’s impossible and simply unfair that anyone could look like that.
“That’s Liam Grey, Will Carson and Christian Ryder. They’re like super famous! They go to Brentwood by the looks of it,” she says, clearly unable to contain her excitement as she looks at me with utter joy.
The realisation sends my jaw plummeting to the ground, and I stand there, gaping at her like an absolute idiot.
“Brentwood?” I manage, blinking hard. “No way, you’re kidding.”
“Nuh-uh, I’ve seen them before. The logo is a big giveaway,” she points out.
Oh yeah.
Crap.
“Guess I forgot to mention…” The words tumble out, barely formed before I realize what I’m saying. “…that I sort of, maybe, got invited to that school.”
Camille’s mouth drops open, her eyes sparkling. She grabs my arm, fingers squeezing hard enough to leave a bruise. “You? Brentwood? That Brentwood?” She gestures to the beautiful guys at the table, her voice wavering between disbelief and full-on excitement.
I nod, a reluctant smile breaking through. “Yep. The universe has officially thrown me into the lion’s den. Again.”
“You have to say ‘hi’,” she beams, as if this is the most normal thing ever.
“Absolutely not. I —”
But Camille’s already pushing me toward the table with enough strength to launch me into their laps. Her laughter follows me as I stumble forward, my heart hammering so loudly in my chest, I swear they’ll hear it. My breath catches, just for a moment, as I take in their faces up close.
Why am I suddenly feeling self-conscious?
“Uh, hey there! Welcome to the café,” I say, trying to sound casual. “C-can I take your orders?” Please, universe, don’t let me mess this up.
Liam smirks a little as he glances down at my shoes. “Nice Converse,” he says, his voice laced with sarcasm.
I freeze, stomach twisting. “Oh, these? Super comfortable. Highly recommend,” I say with a laugh that sounds as forced as it feels.
I hope that didn’t sound as stupid as I think it did. Who would willingly buy a pair of these? I mean—I’m not blind. They look like they’ve just crawled out of the depths of hell.
The group just stares. No smiles, no laughs.
“I’ll take the classic burger,” says Will.
I blink, nodding quickly as I scribble it down, glad to have something else to focus on. Then the other two add their orders —just fries, both of them.
I’m turning to leave, tray in hand, when Liam, the seemingly less-angry-at-life guy, stops me. “Oh, and an Oreo milkshake, please,” he calls, grinning. “Extra whipped cream.”
I simply nod and scurry off, speed-walking as quickly as I can away from them.
***
When Camille asks how it went, I simply lie.
It’s just easier that way. But I can already feel the dread bubbling up, because now I have to go back over there. Back to him. Liam. I feel my stomach turn, and for a second, I’m pretty sure I’m about to throw up.
Summoning what little dignity I have left, I pick up their order, hands shaking just enough to be noticeable, to my great dismay. I walk back to the table; a forced smile plastered across my face.
“Here you go, gentlemen,” I manage, setting down their plates with the grace of a baby giraffe. “Enjoy your meals,” I add, hoping against hope they stop with the judging stares.
I should leave, but for some reason, I can’t stop myself. “I’ve got to say, you guys picked a good spot. The muffins here are top tier. Like, if you’re into blueberries… or muffins in general…” I trail off, my cheeks already burning. As if these guys would eat blueberry muffins.
They probably step on them.
They share a look that’s somewhere between incredulous and bored.
I clear my throat, already backtracking. “Right, well, if you need anything else, just… just let me know.”
Finally turning around to leave, my stupid shoe betrays me, slipping clean off my foot just a few steps away from their table.
For a split second, I just stare at it, my shoe lying there on the floor like it’s mocking me.
I try to stay calm, try not to make it worse, but I can feel all their eyes zero in on me like they’re watching a car crash.
They all stare at it like they’re trying to figure out what exactly they’re looking at, and it makes my cheeks go nuclear as I bend down to slide on the too-big, barely surviving Converse.
I don’t look back as I leave, but I can still feel their eyes.