Page 13 of Under Pressure

I’ve considered banning him from entering the café, but again, that would only hurt business, not him.

Forcing my shoulders back, I lean my head against the couch. Back in high school, I remember watching a much younger Beckett Rourke throw a ball just like this one; only he was a few inches shorter and a lot more dramatic when he struck a batter out.

That feels like a lifetime ago now. I’m far from the teenage girl who’d hide in the stands with her nerdy friends while his much cooler ones would holler at us and make sure we knew how out of place we were. It wasn’t often that we attended those games, and it wasn’t because we would have rather been studying.

Beck and his posse were assholes. The type of cool kids you see on TV and read about in books, wondering if they actually exist outside of fiction.

For the longest time, I’d convinced myself that just because Beck didn’t jeer at us the way some of the other guys on the team did, that made him nicer than them. It was the naïve, hopeful version of me that had placed him on a pedestal because I thought he was the hottest guy in school. My pathetic crush kept me blind to the fact that he never once stood up for me or any of my friends when his tore them down. Publicly and privately.

So yeah, he can keep coming into my coffee shop and forcing himself to pretend he doesn’t hate the drinks I make him. But it won’t change the past.

Especially when he doesn’t remember it.

Or me.

6

“We don’t havetime for all your failed flirting this morning,” Wes warns as I tug open the door to Blank Page. He follows Kellan inside and halts an inch from me. “It’s bad enough that I’m going to have to witness such a pathetic attempt, but I don’t want to be late because of it.”

Kelan snorts loudly, glancing back at us. “Since when are you the poster boy for punctuality?”

I ignore them both and push between them, taking the lead. They’re here for . . . moral support, I guess. Wes is the only one of us who actually drinks coffee because he likes it and not only to gain points with a very sassy barista.

Thank fuck for that. I’d have hated to beat him up for trying to mess with what I’ve got going on with Quinn.

“A Red Bull works the same as this bullshit, you know?” Kellan grumbles.

While I agree with that, Wes makes a show of doing the opposite. He shakes his head, face twisted in disappointment, while he examines the chalkboard hung above the counter and takes a generous step away from us, as if we’re embarrassing him.

I slip my hands into my pockets and fix my attention on theguy tinkering with the espresso machine, easily recognizing him. Eli is only one of the three front workers here, and while I originally thought he was a bit overly touchy with Quinn, I’ve quickly picked up on his interest in her sister. Not that it excuses his wandering hands, but I think he’s just really friendly.

The poor guy nearly trips over himself for the chance to get close to Callie, but she’s always preoccupied. The sisters are similar in that way.

Looking away, I can’t help but search for the reason I’m here. Quinn’s usually out here rushing around like her heels are on fire. I quite like the sight of her all flustered and out of breath, like she’s allergic to standing still. Her skin is always flushed from the tips of her collarbones all the way to her temples, and Christ, I’ve daydreamed about how warm she must feel more than I’ll ever admit.

The single time that I got close enough to smell her perfume nearly took me out at the knees. I spent a solid twenty minutes sitting in my car sniffing the air just to see if I could still pick up any hints of the fruity scent. And that . . . that’sreallyfucking creepy.

“Yo!” Kellen calls, a hip bumping the counter.

He has no concern for his loudness in such a busy coffee shop. It’s not news to any of us that our being here has become something expected after all these months of repetition. We’ve done a shitty job of covering our tracks. Yet, I haven’t once considered avoiding the place out of fear of a few photos or interruptions.

I ignore his outburst and twist a finger in the fabric of my pocket. Eli turns at the hips and spots us, his entire being glitching for a minute. Wes blows out a low breath and pulls his shoulders back, expecting what always follows a reaction like that. Out of the three of us, he’s been here the least. The guy does his own thing for the most part, with the exception of when he invites us all over to his place so he can show us some new addition to his Nerd Cave.

“Hey, guys,” Eli rushes out, discarding the drink he’s currently making. He swipes his hands down his soft yellow apron and presses them flat to the edge of the counter. “What can I get you?”

Wes takes charge. “I’ll take a medium cold brew. I don’t know what the other two want.”

“Do you have Red Bull?” Kellan asks.

“Uncultured,” Wes mutters under his breath.

The big guy shoots him a glare. “Or anything that isn’t coffee?”

“Yeah—yeah, of course. Are you a smoothie guy? Or we’ve got drinks just down there in the cooler.” Eli leans over the counter to point at the exposed cooler shelves squished between the two sides of the counter where the baked goods sit. “Energy drinks, though . . . I don’t think so.”

Kellan’s pout is so prominent it’s obvious even from the side. “You’re killing me here.”

“Sorry. Quinn isn’t the biggest fan of them.”