2. Spilled Coffee
Spilled Coffee
Jude
The barista hid her laughter as she handed me my coffee through the window, followed by Solace’s abomination of a drink. I don’t know how she managed to drink stuff like this. Caramel spilled over the edges, where it had been drizzled indecently atop the whipped cream.
I was late.
I’d been spending that extra bit of time between third and fourth period skipping lunch, and sitting in the band room with Solace as she prepared the warm-ups for the day.
She wouldn’t admit it, but she was awesome.
A quiet pride filled me watching her map notes across the board, or take Mr. Halloway’s baton and lead us through a piece for the next concert.
She didn’t like to brag, or talk about herself at all for that matter.
In fact, Solace tended to have this sort of self-deprecating dark humor about everything in life… even her achievements.
So I decided to celebrate for her. She’d been named student director, and as a sophomore, it was a big fucking deal.
Hence, the caramel now seeping its sticky residue into the cupholders of my Jeep.
When I walked in, Solace was wiping yesterday’s ghosted staff lines from the board and beginning her warm-up. Mr. Halloway must have been in his office, or back in the staff room running copies, because the band room was empty, save for her and the sweet scent of her favorite perfume.
It was the cusp of summer, the air outside already beginning to turn warm and tepid. Solace reached up the board, showing off her dark thighs as she added another measure.
“Sol, I’m not ordering this again.”
She turned and smiled, and it nearly knocked the wind out of me, then stretched the notes higher and higher, hips swaying as she moved down the board.
My throat was dry. “I swear the barista laughed at me and called me a sugar addict under her breath.”
“Maybe she was laughing at your plain black drip coffee,” she said through a laugh, before pointing to the piano behind her. “Set it there, will you?”
I stepped in behind her to do just that, but she turned too quickly and knocked the cup straight out of my hand—coffee splashing over both of us.
“Of course,” she said flatly. Her pale shirt turned translucent and stained brown while heat soaked through the front of my jeans. “Oh my God—Jude.” Solace dropped to her knees before the coffee had even stopped spreading, grabbing a wad of paper towels from beside the sink. “Shit, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine.” I crouched beside her, reaching for another handful. “Seriously.”
“No, it’s not.” She swiped frantically at the puddle creeping across the tile, her shoulders tense. “Are you okay? Are your legs okay?”
Despite myself, I laughed once under my breath. “I may never walk again, but I’ll be fine.”
She shot me a horrified look that only made it harder not to smile.
“Come on,” I said, taking the soaked paper towels from her hands, and tossing them in the trash. “I’ve got a spare shirt in the Jeep.”
“The bell’s going to ring,” she protested, though she let me lace my fingers through hers.
“That’s fine.” I pulled her toward the door.
“I can’t—“
I gave her an exasperated look. Solace was nothing if not a rule follower.
She’d had perfect attendance since practically the sixth grade if you didn’t count those few times she’d gotten sick enough.
And even then, she’d still come to school only to get sent home early.
My gut curdled at the thought of her leading warm-ups in front of the whole band this way.
Or sitting through the rest of her classes. Nope. No way.
“Your bra is showing, Sol.”
She glanced down. “I think I have a sweatshirt buried in my backpack.”
“It’s almost ninety degrees out. I have a shirt you can change into real quick.”
“Ugh—fine.”
I’d parked in the staff lot outside the band room door—something she’d probably scold me for if she weren’t busy trying to cover herself, arms crossed tight over her chest as she hurried to the car.
I pulled her around to the driver’s side, unlocking the door before grabbing my gym bag from the passenger seat.
I usually kept a spare set of clothes stashed in here just in case, but all I came up with was a ratty pair of sweats and—
“Here you go.” I handed her my soccer jersey where my name was stamped in block letters across the shoulders: RANSOM. It wouldn’t exactly pair with her mini skirt, but it was better than nothing.
She hesitated and then dropped her arms. I couldn’t help the quick, stolen glance at the hot pink bra now unmistakably visible through her shirt.
“I am not wearing that.” Worry flickered across her face.
“Why not?”
“What will people think?”
I shrugged. “That you’re wearing a shirt?
I don’t know. Just—put it on.” She shot me a sidelong glance and I was worried she would actually say no.
I couldn’t help noticing again how weird she was about my jerseys.
It had taken a stupid amount of convincing during football season to get her into one for a single game.
“You’re soaked and you stink of coffee.”
Her fingers came up, brushing over the letters, lingering there a second longer than necessary. “Coffee doesn’t stink.”
“It’s just a shirt, Solace.”
She huffed softly, still turning the jersey over. “Won’t Taya mind?”
I rolled my eyes. Girls were so weird about sports jerseys.
“She’s not talking to me right now.” Without thinking, I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, fingers lingering a second longer than necessary.
Something in her face shifted, and it hit me before I could look away.
Shit. Maybe this is why girls were weird about jerseys.
“She’ll come around,” I added, a little too quickly.
I hoped to God she didn’t read into any of it.
I was being an asshole, but it would be easier if she didn’t.
If she just stayed Sol. Easy and familiar and mine in a way that didn’t ask for more than what I already knew how to give.
Instead, everything about her was shifting under foot.
At space camp this last summer we’d taken a turn in the zero-gravity chamber.
My stomach flipped the second my feet left the metal floor with nothing to hold onto.
I kind of felt like that now—weightless and floating without a tether.
Solace had always been what grounded me, which was exactly why it was fucking with my head that lately, she was the reason I couldn’t think straight.
I pulled my hand back, clearing my throat. “Seriously, it’s not a big deal. Put it on before someone walks out here.”
“Turn around, then.” She spun her fingers in the air, eyes narrowing.
I switched spots with her, cornering her into the sliver of privacy the open car door allowed, and gave her my back.
I almost turned back around—then caught myself before I could do something stupid. Like seeing my best friend in nothing but her skirt and bra. Fuck. Yeah. I needed help.
“All finished. You can turn around now.”
I did. And—yeah, that was also a mistake. The jersey hung loose on her frame, the hem brushing the top of her thighs and swallowing her skirt. I wanted to turn her around just to see my name and number stretched across her back.
Friday night stadium lights flashed uninvited in my mind. Her in the stands, wearing that jersey. Correction, MY jersey. And not as a favor or because I’d begged and she was my best friend so “of course.”
A slow, crooked smile tugged at my mouth before I could stop it. “See? Not so bad. Now you’re dry and won’t flash the whole school.” I was, distantly, aware that Taya still hadn’t texted me back or returned my calls. I didn’t mind—and that was kind of the problem…
Still, it didn’t stop my stupid mouth from moving without my consent. “You should wear it to the game on Friday.”
She was close enough that the backs of her knuckles brushed my stomach, but her gaze dropped to our feet. She was silent for a second before severing the tie. “I am going to prom with Gabe, remember?”
Oh. Yeah. Senior prom. Gabe. How could I forget? Fuck that guy.
I dragged my hand through my hair, forcing my expression back into a look of boredom.
“Oh yeah, I forgot.” I shrugged, as if it didn’t matter.
I reached over her head and closed the door of the Jeep.
Locking it, I shoved my hands into the pockets of my wet jeans and started walking toward the building.
“Let’s get to class. The bell has already rung. ”