Chapter 3
Mint To Be
It’s not that I was habitually late for things; it’s more that I had other things I would rather do than work at the ice cream parlor.
That’s why I also found myself running to work the day after the exam. Again.
I’d spent the whole morning at the archery range and only left because Yu Ting reminded me to—that darling sweetheart.
I squeezed into one of the last L-lifts within a thousand levels and then resumed my sprint from the L-lift to the ice cream parlor with about 2 minutes and 46 seconds to spare—a new record for early.
“Just in time, Chen,” my supervisor greeted me in a nasally voice.
His displeasure was what brought the glint to my eye and a suppressed smile to my lips. The muscled, redheaded jerk had been trying to get me fired since the day I was hired two years ago, but I wasn’t about to let him win.
“Thanks for being such a supportive co-worker, Oatmeal.”
I rolled my eyes as I slipped my uniform on over my running clothes. I fastened my hairnet on and threw in a glare just to be safe.
Barley powered on the OPEN sign.
“Why do you even care if you get fired or not? You leave for The Hills in a week, from what I’ve heard. This job won’t even matter with your fancy Babel diploma. And I heard your exam scores are gonna be through the roof.”
I scratched at the thin layer of sweat drying under my khakis and polo and ignored Barley’s voice scraping like a fork against an empty plate.
If I replied, he’d never stop talking as if I had even an inkling of a desire to converse with him.
Instead, I went straight to scooping all the insides of the ice cream tubs so I could gather everything in the middle and make it easier to dig out servings when the customers came.
It also gave me the chance to feel the blast of refrigerated air against my overheated skin.
Fortunately, Barley only had to work the first hour that day to help open the shop.
I spent the rest of the afternoon scooping up flavors like Twisted Champagne Moans and Blood of Your Mother to kids years younger than me with that tell-tale gaze indicating they had their Visex on.
It used to bother me to watch people take selfies with their gourmet ice cream and then chuck it in the trash like the six credits they’d spent didn’t matter at all.
Now, I was just numb.
Because it didn’t matter. Not to them.
I basked in the numbness as I slapped a scoop of Kick My Chocolate Balls onto a 14-year-old’s cone and drolled out our customary, “Lick it good.”
The clock ticked to 5:05. Astrid would be here in five more minutes to relieve me of my boredom and order her usual triple scoop of Dirty Rotten Whoreo—of which I would help with the last two scoops.
I smacked my lips at the thought of it.
That’s why I knew it was 5:05 pm, May 18th, 3212 A.T. when I saw him for the second time.
The bearer of my unease.
The same giant, hood pulled low and face half-shadowed, stood a few shops down, staring at the ice cream parlor. His shadow crept out in too many directions with all the lights from the vendors and the AI-generated sun trying to catch sight of him.
But they couldn’t reach him.
He was pure shadow.
A girl even shorter than I was with baggy clothes and messy black hair kept trying to show him something in the scarf shop they were standing near. She would slap his shoulder and then move toward a display rack. Then she’d kick his shoe and once again turn toward the rack.
He remained still, unmoving.
At first, I watched him, my mouth parting slightly as I forgot what I was meant to be doing.
With his hood casting darkness over his features and his black hair hanging over his eyes, it was hard for me to tell what exactly he was looking at.
I knew he might have been looking at me, but I kept staring anyway.
I usually avoided staring because I freaked people out enough by just existing.
Someone like that couldn’t be scared of someone like me, though.
Disgusted, maybe, but not scared.
Then when he popped his jaw side to side and let his mouth fall into a smirk, I realized that he was watching me watch him. While I often caught the eye of others, I knew the moment he set his eyes on me that I was in trouble. I had known it yesterday, but didn’t admit it until now.
Something swelled in my throat, and I dropped the metal scoop down into the bin of Barely-There Pear.
“Damn it,” I cursed as I had to fetch the scoop out and clean it off while also trying to keep my cheeks from turning the definite red they were starting to tint.
I nearly dropped the scoop again when I mistakenly looked back up to see that nightmare of a guy still staring straight back at me. He knew what he was doing.
I tossed the spoon into the metal canister and turned away to busy myself restocking the caramel cones, reddened ears visible under my hairnet, hair all toppled up on my head.
I was used to people staring at me in repulsion and confusion, but there was something entirely different in the way he watched me now.
Curiosity? Calculation?
Predatory instinct.
Here comes my inner drama queen again.
Three abused cones mocked me from the trash can as I dropped in a fourth, having just crushed it to crumbs in my antsy hands. When I turned from the bin and back to the cones, I saw him approaching the counter out of the corner of my eye.
Barley would have scolded me for somehow forgetting the Nian custom of greeting patrons with our cheerful, “How can I wet your taste buds today?”, but I was gonna puke before I could get something like that out of my mouth in front of this guy.
The stranger didn’t seem too eager to order anything anyway, as he stood there silently, eyes trained on me and my cones. He was way taller than he had looked in the distance, and I looked dumb with how slowly it took for me to lift my chin to look up at him.
What am I six?
Or is this guy just a mutant?
Or the devil himself?
Every step I took toward him, the scent of black pepper and citrus begged for devastation. He was distraction at best, but most likely, he was utter destruction.
He was a magnet dragging me down from the heights of The Tower to the underbelly of the Void. Far, far away from my destiny.
I’d been very successful at avoiding people like this—men like this—for most of my life. With everything I had worked for over the past ten years just within my grasp, I knew that this stranger would snatch it all away in a heartbeat. And there was nothing I could do about it.
“Can I get anything for you today, sir?”
My voice had taken on a higher pitch than usual, and there was a low throbbing in my ears as blood rushed through my veins, trying to get my muscles to do the thing my brain was telling them to do: press my thumbprint on the sensor to unlock the system.
Said blood was also rushing for other purposes, like heading straight south and center.
He laughed one of those single-breath scoffs that come with a crooked smile.
Then he hummed, made himself miraculously taller, and spoke with a voice that I probably should have been more prepared for, considering the expected proportionality of his voice box to the rest of his gotta-be-edging-on-seven-feet.
“You’re Eliana.”
I blinked.
How does he know my—
He dipped his chin to nod toward my chest.
I looked down at the blue-and-white name tag, then back into his eyes.
A wave of heat ripped through me again.
What was it that he’d just said? Had he asked me a question?
Along with the heat, a cold chill raised bumps along my skin.
Am I wearing a bra?
Now that he was in the unforgiving pot lights of the parlor, his eyes looked even darker with swirling hues of black threatening to pull me under.
I didn’t even know there were hues of black.
I took back what I said about murder in his eyes.
It was annihilation.
He didn’t care about taking someone’s life. He wanted to destroy everything in his path.
I’m in his path.
My name. He said my name.
I took a deep breath, showing all my cards.
“Yes,” I replied with a squeak. I tried to modulate my voice a bit more, but the next part came out too deep, so I just sounded rude and manly, “But, would you like some ice cream?”
Actually, that was how I usually sounded toward customers.
Rude and manly.
His eyes narrowed, and again he looked down at my chest. He wasn’t looking at my name tag this time, but at the center—at my cleavage.
The mark.
I wiped the remaining cone crumbs on my pants and then, with trembling fingers—those traitorous bastards—refastened the middle button of my polo.
The action under his harsh scrutiny felt more like undressing than covering up, especially seeing as I kept my eyes on him the entire time, refusing to let the villain out of my sight.
I licked my lips again before I could get that second button through the hole.
He crossed his arms and flexed his jaw side to side again as he looked back up. I quickly learned I’d rather have him keep staring at my chest than look me in the eye.
“Er,” I cleared my throat and cracked my knuckles at my side. “Mint To Be Kissed is the best flavor in my opinion.”
I motioned toward the green mint ice cream with chunks of brownie and chocolate swirls—a perfect combination of dark richness with fresh zest. Mint chocolate chip had always been my favorite ice cream flavor, but this guy was about to ruin it with the smirk that crept across his face.
“That what you like?”
My chin bobbed once before I froze mid-nod.
He wasn’t asking about the taste.
He was referring to the name.
Mint To Be Kissed.
Unwelcome images and a less welcome zing of electricity zapped from my brain and down through the rest of my nervous system.
My mouth ran dry, and then my heart dropped down low into my stomach. I didn’t know if he was trying to be quiet or if he intentionally growled when he spoke, knowing it would induce goosebumps regardless of the hearer’s sexual orientation.