Chapter 1 #2
Everyone seems to have settled in now, with nearly every table occupied by a student with a computer or textbook, or someone quietly reading a book.
Vicki leans on the counter, and the blond guy making all the drinks finally makes his way over with a whale-blue mug in his hand, sipping from it.
“So, you’re New Guy?” he asks.
He has a nose piercing, and the way his blue eyes pierce through me makes me wonder if he gives everyone that probing look or if it’s just me.
“In the flesh,” I respond.
“You’re a regular here already, aren’t you? I recognized you when you walked in,” he says.
“Are you going to introduce yourself, or are you going to give him the third degree?” Vicki asks.
Barista Guy chuckles and runs a hand through his blond hair. “Sorry. I’m a psych major. It’s my thing. I’m Simon.”
I hold out my hand to him. “Alex.”
Simon grabs it and shakes it. “We’re really glad you applied for the job. We were desperate—”
Vicki elbows Simon in the side.
Simon frowns. “Uh, ow.”
I chuckle. They’re probably forced to spend a lot of time together.
“Yeah, I guess I was a regular. I like coming here to write.”
“You write?” Vicki asks.
I nod. “For The Goldberg.”
Simon frowns. “So, you’re a journalism major? I’m guessing you carry a notebook and pen with you at all times?”
I cough. “No—I…”
“They’re always looking at everyone like they know your secrets. My roommate last year was on the paper, too. He looked at me the same way, and I told him to fuck off one too many times,” Simon continues.
Vicki rolls her eyes. “Don’t chase away our only glimmer of hope so far, Si.”
“I’m not chasing him away—”
I cough again, trying to change the subject. “Is it usually this crazy?”
They both shake their heads.
“No, actually. I guess it’s just the start-of-semester craziness, but it seems like it’s picking up steam every day. No idea why,” Vicki says.
Simon points at me. “Hence why we need the desperate journalism major.”
“Do you make good tips?” I ask.
It’s not like I’m going to be raking it in if I’m only working two or three times a week, but any money is better than no money.
“They’re decent. College students are strapped for cash, so I get it if they don’t tip. Teachers and people who work at the college usually tip well, though,” Vicki says.
I nod. “Nice.”
“And how’s the clientele? Any lookers?” I ask.
Vicki and Simon exchange glances.
“Depends on what you’re looking for,” Simon says.
“Cute guys,” I respond plainly.
“Do you have a type?” Simon asks.
I scratch my arm as I think about my ex, Scott. He’s a professional swimmer for a nearby college who pretty much dumped me for someone else. So while he is my type physically, anything that keeps me from repeating that mistake would probably be best.
I puff out a breath. “Anything but athletes.”
Vicki chuckles. “Well, if you must know, almost no athletes come in here unless it’s for a smoothie or a pastry. They come in just as fast as they leave. It’s like cafes are defiled ground to them.”
I chuckle. “Good. I’d rather not deal with them.”
The bell jingles at the front entrance, and I spin around.
My hands tense on the counter as I see a hulking figure step through the door.
He comes in similarly to how I did: unsure, like he wants to high-tail it right back out.
He has a gym bag slung over his shoulder and wears a bulky sweater with gym shorts that reveal a lot more thigh than should be allowed.
He has a Montgomery Hornets hat turned backward over his dark, wavy hair.
He looks completely lost, like it’s his first time ever stepping into a cafe, and I almost want to grab his hand and lead him to the register myself just to help him order.
He approaches the counter, but he walks more heavily on one foot than the other. Not quite a limp, but not a normal walk either. There’s a scar on his left knee that I only notice once he gets closer.
Backward Hat focuses on the menu instead of me, and I realize even his face is attractive, if his Romanesque build wasn’t already enough.
I glance at Simon and Vicki, who seem to communicate psychically while picking at a discarded muffin from the pastry case.
“Hi there,” I say to the football player as he keeps his gaze locked on the menu.
Emerald eyes find mine.
He rubs the back of his neck. “Uh… hi.”
His voice is deep, rumbling through me.
I go to cross my arms, but instead, I lean against the counter with one hand and fold the other across my chest in some awkward half-arm cross, unsure how to hold myself in front of this guy.
“Can I get something for you? Maybe a croissant? Or a smoothie?” I ask, hoping to ease the process along for him, since he probably isn’t going to order anything from the drink menu.
His thick eyebrows rise. “Oh. Uh… no, actually.”
He pauses. I swear I can see his cheeks flush, but it must just be from the gym or some football practice they make those guys do.
He peers into the pastry case.
Then he takes a step closer to me. “Can I try the lemon square?”
“Sure,” I say as I walk over to the pastry case, open it, and grab a square with a pair of tongs.
“Do you want that for here or to go?”
The guy blinks like he’s never been asked that question before.
“Uh—to go. Please,” he adds quickly, still rubbing the back of his neck.
I try to hide my smile as I slide the square into a to-go bag.
“That’ll be three-fifty.”
Backward Hat fishes his wallet out of his pocket and pulls out a five-dollar bill.
I bite the inside of my lip as I process the transaction and glance up at him.
He’s pointedly looking away from me, like he’s embarrassed to be here.
I hand him his change, and he drops the rest into the tip jar.
“Whoa, thanks,” I say.
He gives a terse smile directed at no one, since he still refuses to look me directly in the eye. “You’re welcome,” he mumbles.
The guy turns around, giving me a good view of his bulging hamstrings that could only be the result of tireless hours in the weight room.
“Have a good day!” I call after him, forcing myself to say something.
He stops, turns around, and gives an awkward wave. “You—uh… you too.”
He accidentally bumps into someone walking into the cafe, profusely apologizes, and then disappears back onto the quad.
I glance at Vicki and Simon, who are both giving me a questioning look.
I furrow my eyebrows. “What?”
“Nothing,” Simon says, setting his mug down before heading into the kitchen.
I already want Backward Hat to come back into the cafe, and it hasn’t even been a minute since he left.
Even though drooling over a football player would make me just like the rest of the Montgomery student body, I have to admit the football team has some serious lookers, and this guy is no exception.
Maybe working at this cafe will be more interesting than I thought.
Vicki angles her chin toward the register. I spin around and see a new customer waiting.
I smile at them. I can do this.
“Hi there, what can I get for you?”
The guy doesn’t smile back, but he answers immediately. “Hi, can I get a coffee?”
I close my eyes and take a breath.
This job will be worth it.