14. Aus
AUS
I wake up.
If you can call it that.
I barely slept.
I tossed and turned all night, unable to purge the image of Wick and Thea fucking. Him digging his filthy black nails into her flesh, kissing her with cigarette breath, ogling her like a fucking hyena as he peeled that skintight dress off her…
When I did fall asleep, the visuals became real. Suddenly they were in my bed humping like bunnies. I woke up in a cold sweat.
So yeah, I didn’t sleep much. Two hours total if I’m lucky.
I rub my eyes, stretch my arms over my head as I let out a lionlike yawn.
Coffee.
I’m going to need about a gallon of it.
I don a pair of slippers and head to the kitchen. I always grind my coffee beans fresh. It tastes so much better than the pre-ground stuff.
I shovel a portion of beans into the grinder, pulverize them, and then place them in my French press.
I pour hot water from an electric kettle over them, let them steep for a few minutes, and then plunge the mesh filter to the bottom to get rid of all the grounds.
I pour the whole thing into a mug shaped like a hot-air balloon.
A little whimsical for my taste, but it was a gift from Tim.
Tim got me hooked on the French press too.
I had one stuffed into the back of a cupboard—an old Christmas present—and he found it when he was staying with me a year or so after he got the job at Jade.
I was blown away at how much more flavorful the coffee was compared to the coffeemaker.
Since then, I’ve exclusively used the press.
Now Tim is gone, but the French press is still here.
God…
I shake my head. I can’t think about Tim on only two hours of sleep. I turn on the TV in the living room to distract myself.
I turn around to grab my balloon mug when a familiar voice snakes into my ear.
“We’re looking at a high-pressure system moving in this weekend, bringing mostly sunny skies and warming temperatures, though a cold front could bring in some scattered showers Sunday afternoon…”
I nearly drop my mug.
I turn around to confirm the voice is who I think it is, but I don’t need to.
Thea goddamned Storm, giving the weather report like she didn’t just waltz into my life and destroy it all in one fell swoop last night.
Her makeup is impeccable, and her hair is pulled back in a neat bun. Purple pantsuit with an off-white blouse. Much more modest than that sexy-ass gingham number she had on last night, but she still looks hot as hell.
I crinkle my forehead. I don’t normally watch her news station, ChicagO2. I stopped watching the news altogether a few years ago. Too depressing. But I must have accidentally flipped to it when I turned the TV on.
Is the universe giving me a sign? Maybe that half-baked plan I cooked up with Nora last night will actually work.
I sit down on my leather couch across from the TV, sipping my coffee as I watch Thea’s weather report.
She’s not saying anything particularly exciting. Warm weather this weekend and then cooling a bit later. Typical for this time of year, early spring.
But she’s mesmerizing. Those beautiful lips, her long eyelashes, her boobs that won’t quit…
Damn. Damn damn damn.
I’ll be tuning in every morning.
The news is live. So she’s not with Wick right now. Her hair is kempt, her makeup clean. She either has a fantastic prep team or she didn’t spend the night with Wick. Hard to tell through a TV broadcast.
I’m still going to shoot my shot with her. Wick be damned.
My watch is on the coffee table. It’s my prized possession, a gift I bought myself when I took full ownership of the Jade Sanctum. It’s green—of course—with tiny emeralds in the three, six, nine, and twelve positions.
Quarter past ten.
Damn. Later than I’d have guessed.
I slept longer than I thought.
On Jade nights, I’m not home until nearly four in the morning. Ten is usually the earliest I’ll wake up the following day.
I was tossing and turning the whole night, so I assumed it was early when I got out of bed. My mistake.
ChicagO2 news has three morning segments, at six, eight, and ten. They each last about an hour, so Thea will be wrapping up in about forty-five minutes. I pull out my phone and check the maps app to see how far away the O2 News station is from my place.
Only a ten-minute drive. Rush hour is over—more or less—so it’ll be easy.
Which means I have a half hour or so to get ready.
Except…
If I show up at her station after having just met her last night, she’ll think I’m a crazy creepy stalker.
I know my intentions are pure, but she doesn’t.
Nora suggested a pretext for being near her news station. I look up what’s nearby.
Aha!
The Golden Cap, a coffeeshop just around the corner. I’ll get there, get a drink, and wait for her to leave the news station. Then I’ll casually bump into her—latte in hand for plausible deniability—and strike up a conversation.
It’ll be difficult not to ask where she ended up going last night, but I’ll avoid that topic like the plague.
I strip off my boxer briefs and jump in the shower, quickly scrubbing last night off me.
I towel off, wrap my neck-length hair into a man bun, and trim my facial hair to my preferred length—just in between stubble and beard.
I make sure the hair around my neckline is cleaned up, rub some coconut oil onto my face, and throw on a flattering V-neck—black—with my favorite pair of jeans.
I’ll look good, but I won’t look like I’m trying to look good. This has to seem like a chance encounter.
Once I’m dressed and ready, I drive to the news station and park by the Golden Cap. There’s a giant lot right next to the news station, but if I park there, it’ll be clear I have an ulterior motive.
No, Aus Waverly is just getting his daily cup of coffee at this place he’s frequented for years.
I step inside. A young woman with hot-pink streaks in her hair and about a thousand colorful buttons on her apron smiles at me. “Welcome to the Golden Cap, sir. May I take your order?”
I blink a few times. “What’s your specialty here? I usually drink my coffee black.”
She cocks her head. “We’re always happy to make a pour-over for our customers, but I personally recommend the Golden Latte.”
“What makes it golden?”
She widens her eyes. “Turmeric.”
I scrunch my nose. “Like the stuff that’s in curry powder?”
“Exactly.” She chuckles. “But it doesn’t affect the taste. It just makes it a little more robust. Plus turmeric has great anti-inflammatory properties. If you’re feeling adventurous, I suggest giving it a try.”
I’m about to order a regular coffee—seriously, turmeric in a latte?—when I realize I am feeling adventurous. I’m putting myself out on a limb for a woman I barely know. A woman who may have slept with one of my employees last night.
Nothing about this makes sense. Just like turmeric in a latte doesn’t make sense.
“You know what? I’ll try it.”
She nods. “Right away, sir.”
“And throw in a blackberry scone for good measure.”
“Absolutely. Toasted?”
“Is there any other way?”
The barista giggles and gets to work on my order.
I press my credit card against the reader and then find a cozy corner of the coffeeshop with a direct line of view to the news station.
I set up my laptop—I certainly won’t be the only hipster pretending to write a screenplay here—and wait for my drink.
“Golden Latte for Aus?”
“Thanks.” I pick it up from the counter, sit back in my chair, and take a sip.
And you know what? It’s pretty good.