5. Welcome to Foot, Balls
5
Tessa
Not even the smells and sounds of Beans & Books can perk me up this morning. I’ve been a zombie since I woke up––after about two hours of sleep––and my regular customers keep giving me strange looks and asking if I’m okay.
I assure them all everything is fine, but I am not okay.
Riggs moved in yesterday. I peeked out my window once when I heard the beeping sounds of the moving truck backing into the driveway. As muscled bodies climbed out of the cab, I quickly closed the blinds and refused to look again. I spent the entire day locked in my house, refusing to step outside for a second. I just wasn’t ready to face him.
And truth be told, I’m still not.
Which is why, when the bells jingle over the front door and I open my mouth to welcome in the customer, I choke on my own spit when the man, himself, strides in like he’s on a mission. His dark eyes are locked on mine, and I fight the urge to cough as I stare right back at him.
How dare he fucking step foot in here? In my domain. Where he knows he’s not welcome. And if he doesn’t know it, he’s about to.
His lips start to curve upward, and I brace myself against the effect I know those dimples will have on me, but before they can come out to play, a group of three men surround him. A look of resignation crosses his features before he gives them a kind smile. He poses for selfies with each of them before shaking their hands and accepting a few goodhearted slaps on the back. As they drift away from him, his attention zeroes back on me.
Tapping my barista on the shoulder, I murmur something about needing to check the inventory and slip into the back. As soon as I’m in the storage room, I lean back against the fully stocked shelves and mumble a few curses.
Why am I running? This is my space. I’m the one that belongs here, not Riggs fucking Malone. Sheathing myself in that anger like a protective cloak, I march back out there and take my station behind the bar.
Riggs has already ordered, the barista giggling like a school girl and mumbling about what an honor it is to make his coffee.
Puh-lease. Give me a fucking break. He’s just a man.
“Tessa.”
My eyes slide from the barista and back to Riggs at that, his voice a bit deeper than I remember, but familiar all the same. Shaking off the shiver rippling under my skin at the rumbling timbre of his voice, I nudge the barista aside and take over making his drink.
I know what he likes. I still fucking remember, and that pisses me off even more than I already am.
“It’s good to see you,” he says, moving closer to the bar.
I turn on the grinder, letting the noise drown out anything more he might want to say. I can’t take the small talk right now. Not when my body is vibrating from just being this close to him and hearing him speak my name.
What in the hell is wrong with me? I’m supposed to hate him. I do hate him.
I’ll always hate him for making me love him while it was all a big joke on his part. Entertainment for his football buddies. Yeah, my virginity was hilarious, and his ability to sweet talk me out of it was a relief for their boredom.
“Tessa, please. Look at me.”
Nope. Not going to happen, buddy.
I finish making the mocha with skim milk with a sprinkle of java chips on the top. Popping on the lid, I set the cup on the counter in front of Riggs without a word or even a second of eye contact.
“Well, the customer service in this place leaves a lot to be desired,” he mumbles forlornly.
At that, I look straight into his eyes and narrow my own. “Well, if that’s true, I bet you can find somewhere else to get your coffee.”
I spin on a heel, my inner self high-fiving me for that clever little zinger, and march back to my office with my head held high. Closing the door behind me, I round the desk and fall into my chair. My chest is heaving as the adrenaline rushes out of me.
And once it does, all I feel is…empty.
After convincing myself I’m fine and it was just the six cups of coffee I’ve had this morning and not Riggs’ presence that made me so jumpy, I heave myself out of my chair and leave my office. When I get to the doorway that leads back to the coffee shop, shame heats my face as I pause to peek around the corner to make sure he’s gone.
I’m not afraid to face him. I just…don’t feel like dealing with his bullshit right now. Yeah. That’s it.
The door flies open and my heart leaps into my throat before settling when Roxy strides in, her eyes scanning the entire area before settling on me. She rushes forward and waves me closer. I move around the bar to meet her by an empty table in the back, and she sits, pulling me down into the chair next to her.
“Are you okay? I heard from Harvey Jenkins that Riggs was here. He’s waving his phone in front of everyone, bragging about his selfie with the football star.”
“I’m fine,” I say. “He was here. He got his coffee. Then he left. No big deal.”
“Really?” she asks. “Did you talk to him?”
I blow out a long breath and give her a rundown of our stilted conversation. She laughs at my jab at him, and her humor is contagious. I can’t help but grin in return.
“So, you’re really okay?” she asks, sobering.
“I honestly don’t know, Roxy,” I sigh.
“What can I do to help?”
“Get shitfaced with me and help me make a Riggs Malone voodoo doll so we can take turns poking it in the crotch with hot pins?”
“Sounds like a blast,” she says with a laugh. “But I can’t tonight. I have to work. How about Saturday? We’ll invite Skye and Hadley and make a party of it.”
“A penis-poking party,” I correct her, fighting to keep my grumpy expression in place.
“That doesn’t even sound right,” she says, laughing again.
She nudges me with her foot, and the laughter I’ve been trying to hold back bubbles out of me. It feels good to laugh. Anything is better than the tight knot of tension that formed in my chest the moment I learned Riggs planned to move in next door.
“Thanks, Roxy,” I say, my voice laced with real appreciation.
“I got you, girl. Now,” she says, pushing herself to her feet, “I have to go get ready for work. Call me if he tries to talk to you again before Saturday. I’ll slam my size eight-and-a-half combat boot into his crotch, no voodoo needed.”
I laugh again and nod enthusiastically. “Sounds like a good plan.”
She kicks her foot forward with full force, stopping where Riggs’ crotch might be and says, “Welcome to foot, Balls.”
Then she prances around in a victory dance before shooting finger pistols in my direction, blowing the tips, and shoving them down into imaginary holsters.
“Oh, my God, you’re ridiculous,” I say through my laughter.
“Oh, you know you love it.”
“I love you, weirdo,” I say, curling my fingers into a heart shape and holding it to my chest.
She returns the gesture, saying, “Love you, too, nerd. See you Saturday. I’ll bring the tequila.”
“No tequila!” I shout, but she’s already headed for the door and visibly tuning me out.
I pull my phone from my pocket and text Hadley and Skye about Saturday night. Hopefully, Skye can get someone else to man the bar so she can come.
I’m going to need all the support I can get.