Chapter Sixteen Nomi
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
NOMI
My alarm starts bleeping at five thirty a.m., summoning an anguished cry from my sleepy soul.
All night long, I dreamt of Julian. All my usual dreams, but now starring that absolute menace.
The class I forgot I was taking until the day of the exam?
Julian was the teacher. Wandering around a never-ending mall?
Julian was at my side, sucking up an Icee that stained his lips a sweet, cherry red.
Running from a faceless murderer? Julian hid me in his basement that had a cozy, roaring fire and wasn’t a basement at all, but like, a very fancy ski cabin?
Why can’t I stop thinking about him?
Julian’s made incredible strides these last few weeks in understanding cannabis, but he still blames it for whatever happened to his father.
And until recently, he was trying enthusiastically to ruin my dreams at great personal cost to me.
More than that, he’s annoying. He’s obnoxiously competitive. And he looks amazing in short shorts!
I frown at the tangent, but the point stands. The man’s got legs more mouthwatering than a Renaissance Faire.
Still. Still. Just because we have this crackling sexual energy between us doesn’t mean we’re compatible humans.
He can’t be a decent person for three weeks and erase all the bullshit he’s put me through.
But his passionate promise to Deborah yesterday sent me into an existential spiral so alarming, I ended up vaping Frankenbush so I could sleep.
It was a great plan, until the terpenes hit. Horny pot was the last thing I needed after Julian looked at me so reverently last night, like he didn’t see all my wasted potential for once and instead saw me, who I am now, what I stand for now, and understood that I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.
I masturbated half the night.
I grab my phone to silence the buzzing alarm, but there’s a text there, sent an hour ago.
JULIAN FUCKING D’ANGELO
This is Doctor Asshole. Stay in bed and get some extra sleep—I’ll handle the morning rush. See you later.
I blink at the words. Am I still dreaming?
Nope, I’m awake and now suffering from an entirely inadvisable swoon that sweeps over me. My head sags against my pillow, and when I drift back to sleep, I dream of—who else?
Julian.
I roll into the dispensary at the lovely hour of ten a.m., just after the morning rush, but still during the steady thrum of business that Julian, with his delicious coffee drinks and fine fucking ass, has drummed up on his own.
“Welcome to Stranger Coffee,” Julian announces without looking up. Eve is working alongside him, forking over pastries made with normal, undrugged butter for customers, while Graham sits at the counter. I take a moment to observe the unlikely trio before declaring myself.
“I’m not saying you’re evil. But I am saying you’re a complete prick.” Eve’s standing with her arms crossed, a look of grudging respect on her face. “It’s almost pathological.”
Julian huffs, then swings a white dish towel over his shoulder in this weirdly sexual way that, frankly, should be illegal.
Do I have a Gilmore Girls mean coffee-shop-man kink?
“Look, if you cut the line in my coffee shop, I’m going to make an example out of you.” Julian shrugs. “Baby or no.”
The possessive, bossy way he just said my coffee shop heats my neck with pleasure.
Oh, no. I do.
“Painful to watch, but necessary for her growth.” Graham looks up, sees me watching from the doorway. “Oh, hey Nomi.”
“Hey, bitch,” Eve says. “Another package came in for JM Enterprises. I put it in your office.”
Ugh. That’s the third time this month!
Eve turns back to Julian. “But seriously, can you control yourself? You were really cool at the Pot Luck when you were stoned off your ass. Is that how you really are, and you just choose to hide it under this unhinged exterior? Or was it a neurological fluke?”
Julian absently dries a mug while he considers the question. “You know that phrase, the cat’s hackles raised? I think my hackles are permanently raised. They are stuck in the raised position.”
“They only go up,” Graham adds, then lifts his finger. “But can they go higher?”
“Oh, definitely,” Eve says. “I’ve seen it.”
“Like when Carl came back in and asked for a refill on his latte,” Graham muses. “The hackles definitely went higher.”
Julian nods solemnly as I approach the counter, looking between my two best friends and then to Julian. “You know these two are really high right now.”
Julian hangs the mug on its rack. “I had my suspicions.”
“I think we should help him,” Eve says to me. “We should teach Julian how to be nice.”
“I am a lost cause, you mean, little lesbian.”
“No, really. We can help you,” Eve insists. “I’m great, Graham’s a sweetheart, and Nomi’s the nicest person there is.”
Graham tilts his head to the side. “Weeeeelll—”
Eve slams her hand on the counter, now in full salesman mode. “What if I told you I had a scientifically proven method to make you a nicer person—would you do it?”
Julian frowns. “What kind of science?”
“Science!” Eve declares with jazz hands.
This, apparently, is enough.
Julian rubs his chin. “Today?”
“We could start this afternoon.”
“Julian? Might I remind you—” I point at Eve, who’s now drumming the counter in a frenetic reggae beat. “They are very high. Whatever she’s thinking, I guarantee it’s a bad decision.”
“Gare-un-teeeeed,” Graham says with a vaguely Cajun, almost certainly problematic accent. “What a weird word. Gare-un-teeeee. Garrrr-uhhh—”
“See?” I lift my palm like I’m serving up pothead on a very small platter.
Julian slaps his towel down. “Let’s do it.”
JULIAN
“You want me to wear a shock collar?” I run the hot-pink dog collar emblazoned in sparkly gems that spell out REAL RUFF BITCH through my fingers with mounting horror.
“Yes, you’ll wear it around your wrist, like this.
” Eve points, and Graham fastens the collar on me.
The metal shock box makes the whole thing resemble a very bulky, very gay smart watch.
“We’ve designed a series of trying personal interactions for you, and one of us will zap you every time you’re a dick. ”
“No!” Nomi laughs, her eyes wide. “Don’t do this, Julian. This is batshit!”
“It doesn’t hurt,” Graham says mildly. “On the lower settings.”
“Why do you have this?” I stare at it, my pink doom.
“My mom rescued a Chihuahua mutt that attacks everyone she sees,” Graham explains. “Unless she’s wearing the collar.”
“See?” Eve exclaims. “Science!”
I swallow uncomfortably. Why did I agree to this? I made my peace with my unpalatable personality long ago. Didn’t I?
Because you want your job back.
Because you want Dr. Srinivasan to sign off on your probation.
Because you want people to like you.
No.
Because you want Nomi to like you.
I look at her, trying to gauge her reaction to this ridiculous stunt.
She’s laughing—can’t stop, actually. Her brown eyes curve into merry half-moons when she laughs, her freckled cheekbones lifted high and kissed by her dark, lower lashes.
Her happiness eases something inside of me.
There’s this huge, fierce knot of anger and worry and irritation in my chest that pushes every other feeling out of me.
But each peal of Nomi’s laughter feels like fingers gently tugging at the knot until it loosens, giving me a relief I don’t know how to give myself.
I take a deep breath and flip the collar’s switch to On.
“So. What’s first?”
“The art of casual conversation,” Eve states. “We talk, you respond. The only rule is, don’t be a dick.”
“Got it.”
Eve hands Nomi the remote to deliver the electronic stimulation to my wrist.
“No!” Nomi tries to give it back. “I don’t want this!”
“Well, I can’t be trusted,” Eve says. “I’ve got a sensitive trigger finger when it comes to straight white men.”
“So do I!” Nomi insists, still laughing, which should worry me, but honestly, I’m glad it’s her. She’s the one I want to impress.
I clear my throat roughly.
“Are you sure about this?” she asks me quietly, her lingering smile edged with concern.
If it keeps her happy and laughing, I’d do just about anything.
“Don’t worry,” I reassure her, my voice low and husky. “I’m a real ruff bitch.”
Her cheeks flush, and she hurries to flip the sign to Closed for our regular afternoon break. The four of us gather into a booth, the air between us prickling with energy.
“So Julian,” Eve begins, drumming against the table. “How ’bout that RFK, Jr.?”
“You wanna talk about that absolute orang—”
Zap!
“AH!” I jump half a foot in my seat, my collared wrist twitching wildly. “Motherfucker!”
“Sorry!” Nomi exclaims apologetically. “Maybe the setting’s too high? I’ll lower it!”
Graham leans over and examines the remote. “Huh. Princess Sugar takes level twenty like a champ. Lower it to fifteen, I guess.”
“That still sounds very high,” I grit out.
Graham ducks his chin at me. “It’s out of a hundred, bro.”
“I don’t mind his whole crusade against food dyes, personally,” Eve continues gamely. “His views on vaccines are a little overblown, though.”
“A little overblown?” I manage out through measured breathing.
“You know, my mother never vaccinated me,” Graham proffers, “and I didn’t catch polio or whatever. Maybe,” he wags his finger at me, “he’s onto something.”
I blink rapidly. “Are you fucking serious right n-OW!” I whimper, rubbing my wrist, but Nomi’s laughing again, tears trailing down her cheeks.
“Julian, they’re messing with you!” She wipes her tears, chest still shaking. “Can’t you control yourself?”
“Not about vaccines, no,” I reply glumly.
“Okay, that’s fair,” Eve says. “Started off too hot. Let’s back it up a step. Julian, have you ever—”
Just then, the front door to the shop opens, and Carl sticks his head inside a full hour early. “You open?”
“Does the sign say open?” I spit out.
Zap!
The shriek bellows from my body. Carl jumps back.