“Morning, daydream,” my manager calls as I clock in.
I flash him my brightest smile as I pull on my apron. Work is its usual blur of overly complicated orders and cracked hands from over-washing. I joke with the regulars, write silly doodles on the to-go cups in my assortment of glittery gel pens I keep in my apron pocket, and silently mourn the smell of pastries I can’t afford. I sneak a broken cookie from the tray when no one’s looking. Sweet, sugary salvation.
It’s just past noon when my saving graces arrive.
“You look like sunshine got punched in the face,” Talia says, dropping onto a stool.
“And still glowing, thank you,” I say, wiping my hands on my apron.
Ezra slides a paper bag across the counter like he’s sliding me drugs. “A flaky croissant for our flaky ray of light.”
“Poetic,” I say, tearing into it like a gremlin. “And you guys are the best. Did I mention I love you? Because I really love you.”
Ezra leans over the counter despite my never-ending warnings about him doing that. “You’re not eating enough again, are you?”
“Ez,” I mumble around a mouthful of heaven. “Let me have my carbs in peace.”
They stay for a while,chatting about their latest drama. A group project disaster for Ezra, who absolutely despises having to work alongside people that aren’t Talia and me. Talia’s drama was yet another problem with yet another Tinder date. Apparently, this one was ‘overenthusiastic’, whatever the hell that meant.
Ezra slaps his hand on the counter. “We need a night out. I’m thinking: neon lights, terrible music, and maybe a bouncer named Blade.”
“I have class tomorrow, and uh… we aren’t old enough,” I remind him.
He rolls his eyes like he completely forgot we were still under the legal drinking age and flops back on his stool like I’d just broken his heart.
Ethan showsup at my apartment like a rom-com boyfriend knockoff, holding a greasy pizza box, his too-perfect smile shining.
“Figured you hadn’t eaten,” he says, stepping inside without waiting. “You get snappy when you’re starving.”
He doesn’t say hello or ask how I am. He just sets the pizza on my coffee table and settles on the couch like he owns the place.
“Thanks,” I say, dropping onto the couch. “How… generous.”
“Generous is my middle name,” he jokes, kicking off his ridiculously priced designer trainers.
He smells faintly of cologne and gym sweat. And the already tiny apartment shrinks a little with him in it, though I can’t explain why. I eat in silence as he talks about himself, then his coach, his gym progress, and finally, his ex, who ‘totally wants him back.’ I nod when appropriate and smile when expected. I slowly eat the pizza, despite wanting to inhale the entire thing. I don’t want another comment on my body from him, even though he’s the one who brought the damn thing over here.
His hand lands on my thigh halfway through some action movie I didn’t ask to watch. I watch as he rubs slow circles above my knee, making my body freeze.
“Ethan,” I say softly but firmly.
“What?” He grins. “You’re tense, so I’m helping.”
I shift my knee away from his touch. “Don’t. Not tonight.”
He leans closer, lips brushing my neck. “Come on, babe. Don’t be like that.”
I turn my head to him with a soft smile as my heart pounds. “Ethan, I said no.”
He pulls back, rolling his eyes. “Jesus, okay. Chill.”
I curl into the couch, arms crossed across my chest. “I’m just… tired.”
He exhales sharply. “Right. Tired. Always fucking tired.”
He suddenly stands, grabbing his keys from the table and slipping his shoes back on.
“Are you mad?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.
