Chapter 9
CRUTCH
Kill me now.
I can’t believe I’m about to do this.
The next thing you know, I’ll be getting a nose ring, wearing a cardigan, and asking someone to go to the art museum with me.
I stare up at the neon sign of the pretentious coffeehouse, silently cursing my life. And silently cursing the girl who made me rethink my decision to come here. It’s not like I hadn’t thought about it before, but I guess it took Lulu calling me out to finally make me dive outside of my comfort zone and come here. Hoisting the computer bag on my shoulder, I begrudgingly open the door.
Even at night, the line snakes around the front of the store, and the back is filled with tables and people. People reading, people working on computers, people softly chatting. At least it seems like everyone is minding their own business. I make note that several people have empty cups in front of them. So, I guess they don’t kick you out once you’re finished downing their fancy drinks. Good. That’s what I was hoping for.
The girl behind the counter is pretty. Brunette. Knit cap on her head. When she finally focuses on me, her body language changes and she leans forward against the counter.
Of course, she does.
I can never decide if being good-looking is a blessing or a curse.
“What can I get you?”
“Large coffee. Regular.” I grab the wallet from my back pocket.
“Our house brew today is the Hazelnut Smokehouse. Is that okay?”
Are you serious? “Uhhh, sure.”
Licking her lips, she rings me up. “That’ll be $4.71.”
“What! For plain coffee? Are you serving gold dust in the damn thing?” I’m not joking. This is fucking absurd.
Of course, she thinks I’m joking and laughs hysterically while making change for my $5 bill. My hard earned $5 bill.
“I know, right? I had to cut back to only one a day. Why don’t you find a seat? I’ll bring it to you when it’s ready.”
I grunt, pocketing the coins and mumbling thanks.
One day, I’ll spend $5 on a cup of coffee and not even think twice about it. One day.
My eyes flicker around the tables, trying to find the best place to work. Every table has someone at it. These people make me nervous. I feel like they’re judging me while they’re not even looking at me.
And that’s when it happens.
The dream and nightmare that I fought all night long after driving Lulu to her car last night collide in a tsunami. Engulfing me. Drowning me.
“So, you do have some common sense. Decided a coffee shop is a better place to work than a pill party, huh?”
Slowly, I spin around to face her.
I meant it when I said I hope we never see each other again. But for some reason, an exhale of relief pours from my lungs when I see her standing there, straight back, stiff shoulders, little chin pointed in the air. She has her hair pulled back tonight, halfway up and halfway down. Her designer jeans and sweater form fit to every curve and long line. But what looks even better is the little smirk cutting across her face.
“Someone pointed out the free Wi-Fi. Thought I’d give it a try.”
Her eyes travel the length of my body. “Well, all the tables are full. You can sit with me, if you’d like.” She points to a small table in the back corner.
She doesn’t wait for my response. She simply turns on her heels and walks away.
And me, being the idiot that I am, I follow her.
I pull out my computer and notes, and she pretends to read in a book, flicking her ink pen against her notebook. I quickly glance at the cover. Jane Eyre. I read that book. Years ago.
“Lulu, just how old are you?”
She peers at me over the pages of her paperback. She thinks about lying. She really does. I can see the lie swirling around behind her gorgeous honey eyes like a tornado. Eventually, she slaps her book down on the table. “Seventeen. Why?”
I lean back in my chair and scrub my hand across my face. I nearly kissed a seventeen-year-old kid. Correction: I really wanted to kiss a seventeen-year-old kid. “Holy shit, Lulu. You went to a drunken, drug party, acting like damn Sherlock Holmes, and you’re a junior in high school? Are you crazy?”
Well, that was the wrong thing to say.
She reaches across the table and slams the lid of my laptop closed. “I’m a senior, if you must know. I’ll be eighteen next month. And don’t presume to know anything about me, Ry. I’m more of an adult than most forty-year-old women out there. My mother included. You don’t want people to treat you like the guy from the wrong side of the tracks. So, don’t treat me like some inept, whiny, princess child.”
I didn’t tell her that.
But she knows.
She can see me.
And now, she’s even more beautiful than she was.
“Well, there you are,” a high-pitched voice interrupts us, “hiding in the corner. Here’s your coffee. And some cream and sugar. But, in my opinion, it’s already sweet enough.” The cashier girl licks a fake drop of coffee from her fingertip.
I glance over at Lulu. She rolls her eyes and picks up her book.
“Thanks so much…” my voice trails off.
“Peyton. My name is Peyton.”
“Peyton. Thanks for the coffee.”
“My shift is over at eleven. If you want to get to know one another, give me a call. I wrote my number on the napkin.” Peyton flashes a wink and walks away.
Lulu’s eye roll, this time, is so dramatic I nearly spit my coffee all over the table, laughing.
Her nose scrunches in annoyance. “What?”
“You’re jealous.”
“Excuse me?”
“You get jealous when girls hit on me.”
“Are you high right now? I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She writes something in her notebook, pretending it’s very important.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. You roll your eyes. Maybe, you don’t realize you’re doing it. But it’s a moot point. The fact remains that you’re totally jealous.”
And I love it. I love that this gorgeous, stubborn, strong woman rolls her eyes. For me.
Correction: I love that this gorgeous, stubborn, strong seventeen-year-old kid rolls her eyes.
I’m a fucking sicko.
“I did not roll my eyes.”
“Of course, you did.”
“Well, maybe, I did. But come on, she’s flirting with you and I’m sitting right here.” She points at her own lap. “Right across the table. For all she knows, I’m your girlfriend.” As soon as the words leave her mouth, she blushes.
She blushes, but she doesn’t look away. She stares at me, eye to eye. I get the feeling that Lulu never looks away.
Standing up from the table, I walk to the nearest trash can and toss the napkin—and Peyton’s number—inside.
Ignoring Lulu’s gaze and the seductive way she nibbles on her lower lip, I open my laptop, connect to the Wi-Fi, and try my best to do my homework.
***
Hours. It feels like damn hours.
How can anyone get any work done in here? People are constantly ordering coffee, the blender is constantly blending, and I feel like these strangers are watching my every move.
She places her bookmark in her book, closes her notebook, and puts the cap on her ink pen. “If you sigh or grunt one more time, I’m gonna lose my mind.”
I glance up from my screen. “What are you talking about?”
“I think it’s pretty obvious that this has been the worst thirty minutes of your life.”
Shit. It’s only been thirty minutes?
She rubs the back of her neck again. “You’re miserable here. Let’s go back to the homestead. You can use my hotspot.”
I lift my eyebrows.
“My phone hotspot. You know what I mean.”
I take the last drink of my coffee. Surprisingly, it wasn’t too bad. I actually liked it. “The homestead?”
“Makes sense to call it that. It aligns with your long-term goals.”
I have to be dreaming. It almost sounded like pride in her words. Pride and confidence that I can make something of my life. Be something better. The only ones who have ever spoken to me that way were my grandparents and Harlan.
“But I can call it a campsite, if you prefer? Tent in the woods? Hideout from the FBI manhunt? Your call.”
How did she get to be such a hard ass? My voice catches in my throat. “Homestead sounds nice.”
Her whisper floats across the table, carried from her pink lips. “Homestead, it is. Let’s go.”