I turn. It’s a good thing I have made probably over a million Leos at this point, because if I had to put any effort or thought into this process, I would fuck it up. And I don’t fuck up coffee. My hands go through the motions while my mind wanders to the man standing at the counter behind me. Waiting for his Leo.
I laugh.
Out loud.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I hand Everett his drink. Noteless.Fuck your notes, Everett. You don’t deserve mine anymore.
“What's so funny, pretty bird?”
I still don’t look at him. I just stare at his coffee. His Leo.
“I was just thinking about how you were standing there waiting for your Leo. Do you get it? Your Leo. Your coffee named Leo and me named Leo. Oh, and don’t call me your pretty bird. I’m not your pretty bird.”
Lookee there, I found it. Thought I’d lost it there for a second. Well, I did lose it, am still losing it, but that anger I was looking for? Found it. I sound like a fucking basket case.
He reaches forward, over the counter, and grabs my chin. His grip is firm. I used to feel a gentleness in his skin when he would hold mein the same way many years ago, but now I just feel the steel in his bones. My flesh comes alive at the contact. He forces my chin up, and for the first time in eight years, I look into those pale-green eyes that I fell so dangerously in love with.
“But you are my pretty bird, Leo. And you ran from me. With my fucking son.”
This is not my Everett. This man is angry. Broken. Lost. There is no goofy smile on his face. His dimples are hidden beneath his skin. His eyes are dull.
My stupid fucking heart twists in my chest. For a split second, all I want to do is hold him, kiss him, tell him that nothing in the past matters, that we will move on. But then the hurt in my heart surfaces, the pain, like a scar that’s healed but still twinges with pain every once in a while, and I’m reminded why that scar is there in the first place.
“Is…everything okay here?” Brooke comes out, her hand wrapped up now. Her eyes bounce back and forth from me to Everett. His hand still on my chin. Then he drops it and picks up his coffee.
“Oh yeah. Leo here just had some…honey on her. I was just cleaning her up.” He licks his thumb, his full lips wrapping around it, and his eyes flutter in ecstasy. Then he looks at Brooke. Not me. Brooke.
“Hey, do you want me to look at that hand? I’m a doctor. I can at least see if you need stitches?”
The silly girl completely falls for his charm, and now she is looking at him like a lovesick little teenager. Like I used to look at him. Stupid girl.
Back. Off. Brooke. He is—was. Fuck. Never mind.
She comes to stand next to me and unwraps her hand, placing it palm up on the counter. Everett grabs her small hand in his and gently rubs his thumbs over the delicate skin of her wrist then looks up at her and grins. His dimples pop out. Those aremydimples.
And suddenly I want to pop Brooke right in the stupid, pretty, perfect smile of hers.
I take a deep breath, grind my teeth, and let it out. My eyes on Everett are glaring.
“I think you’ll be okay. Looks pretty shallow. Keep it clean and dry till it forms a scab. If it starts to drain anything gross or the pain gets worse instead of better, get it checked out by your doctor.”
“Thank you… " She trails off, clearly leading him to give his name.
“Everett.” He looks my way and drags his gaze up and down my body, slowly, agonizingly. “I’m a friend of Leo’s.”
“Leo?Oh!You mean LJ? So cool. I’ve never seen you in here before. How long have you two known each other?”
Is it socially acceptable to shove my tea towel into Brooke’s mouth and shove her oblivious, skinny ass out the door?
No?
Shit.
Option two. Play along.
“Not long.” I keep my answer short. That isn’t necessarily a lie. I have no idea who this man is in front of me.
