"Ugh this is so frustrating! I can't get it right." Fisting my hands and stomping my foot, I toss the drink into the trash can, along with the four others I have tried.
Ski lays his bear-paw of a hand on my shoulder. "Hey, you'll get it. You want to go hand grind some beans to let out your frustration?"
Rolling my eyes at him, I can't help but giggle. Ski's solution to any negative emotion is to hand grind espresso beans. He swears itrelieves tension. Honestly, it just gives me a hand cramp and then I get upset at that too.
The bell rings overhead, serving as the most opportune distraction, and I turn to take their order. But the world stops around me at the sight of him. He is devastating. The kind of beauty reserved for celebrities and, well, Greek gods. His golden locks are perfectly tousled, hanging down in front of his dark, bold brows. His jeans and letterman jacket fit him in a way that highlights his tall, lean, muscular frame. And his smile. Jesus, don’t even get me started on his full lips and dimples.
"Everett." I whisper to myself.
I should have known he would approach me here instead of school. At school, I can run, hide away, get lost in all the people. But here? Here it’s just Ski and I.
“What can I get for you?” I say to the register more than to him, not even lifting my head. If I look at him, I don't know that I will be able to maintain my façade that he is not tearing my world apart and re-building it into something I can't allow myself to imagine.
“Answers.”
The bluntness and hurt in his voice makes my eyes snap up to his. His scowl is alarming. I've never seen him look… angry.
“Pho—”
“No. Don’t make me revoke your safe word.” He puts his hands on the counter and leans in.
“Excuse me?” Ski comes up behind me.
“Sorry, sir. It’s just that Leora here has been stealing my heart one note and perfect fucking smile at a time, and now she is ignoringme, using her safe word as a cop-out. And I respect the hell out of a safe word, but it’s gone on too long. Time to face your fears, pretty bird. I'm calling in my rainy-day anything. Talk to me." He is out of breath by the end of his little rant, and I am speechless. He is right. That is exactly what I have been doing.
I expect the old man to back me up, but he doesn’t. He turns around, makes two Leos, the nickname he has coined my favorite drink, and hands them to me.
“Go talk to him, Leora.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Traitor.”
He chuckles and walks away, but not before ruffling my curls like I am eight years old.
Taking the drinks to my private corner table, I sit down with the boy who I'm pretty sure has stolen my heart.
It's time to be a mature seventeen year old, Leo. You can do this.
He sips his coffee and I watch, mesmerized as his lips curl around the edge of the coffee cup. I hate how intoxicating everything he does is. Great. Now I'm jealous of a stupid coffee cup.
He doesn't speak, clearly waiting for me to start. Allowing me control to take this conversation wherever I feel comfortable. But his demand for me to speak also forces me out of my comfort zone. How he balances the two is beyond me.
“I had a plan. Get good grades. Get a scholarship. Go to college. Get out of this town.”
He nods, spinning his coffee cup round and round on the old wood tabletop. “Solid plan. But it doesn’t explain why you are ignoring me and driving me absolutely insane.”
“Ev, you are not part of that plan,” I plead.
He leans in. “I can be.” Hope in his eyes again.
I lean back. “No, you can’t. Being with you—hell, not even being with you, just passing notes with you—has put a target on my back. I can’t handle being in the spotlight, in your light. I want—no, I need, to stay invisible and get out of here.”
“So I’ll come to you. Spotlights are overrated. It's much more fun in the dark.”
I laugh. I actually laugh.
“Do that again.” His face lights up like a kid on Christmas.
“No.”
