Page 2 of Apparently, I’m A B!tch

Chapter1

Nikki

Wednesday afternoon

FOUR MONTHS LATER

Tristan probably still hated me.

It would’ve made sense. It wasn’t as if I was excited for him when he bought this place. The day he invited me for his big reveal, he smiled that dimpled smile while I stood with my hands on my hips, glaring up at him like he destroyed my personal sanctuary.

It took a while for me to realize this coffee shop belonged to him, not me, and I had no right to say the things I said. What he did with it was his business, and I should’ve understood that. But the slathering of textured black paint on the once rich orange-brown paneled walls sent me into a tantrum I could barely control.

I yelled at him, insulting the landscape and portrait paintings he hung on his walls. Not Uncle Henry’s, not my walls. His. As much as I regretted it after the fact, in that moment his handsome face, with those intense brown eyes, strong straight nose, and full-lipped, white-toothed smile, dropped into an expression of dismay and concern, watching me with the kind of care you take with a rabid dog left off of a leash.

I was a bitch. A complete and utter bitch.

I couldn’t believe I actually criticized the newly upholstered cushion benches, all gray and modern looking, accented with faux marble tabletops. They were now the perfect aesthetic for the wave of young corporate executives pushing their way through lower Manhattan.

Oh, and I knew, I knew how badly those cushion benches needed replacing. They were crimson, full of heat and warmth, but were also, like Lilly said, cracked with the repeated sliding in and out of customer asses. Still, knowing the work needed to be done didn’t stop me.

Four months later and here we were, with his face dropping as he laid his eyes on me as I stood in his coffee queue waiting to place my usual order.

I did apologize. I really did. I went back to the shop the same day, knocked on the door frame of our old backroom and told him I wished I handled it better.

He quirked his lip into a sad smile and said, “I thought it’d be a cool surprise, but I guess I screwed it up. It’s okay, Nik. It’s no big deal.”

But it was a big deal. Days, weeks and months later, here we were, still completely unable to climb over the wall of awkwardness my unwarranted tirade built between us.

He forced a smile as I approached the counter. “So, how’s the hit-and-run case going, Nik?”

My heart squeezed as I registered how hard he was trying to make his small talk sound natural.

How were we still doing this? How were we still doing this awkward back and forth where none of our conversations came close to what our old relationship was like?

I cared about him so much. But thanks to my thoughtless honesty, I was now robbed of months of his hand casually wrapped around my waist, his teasing smile, his enveloping embraces. I wanted to get back to that so badly.

But instead of smiling and trying to crack a lame-lawyer joke, I said, “You know I can’t talk about my cases with you. They’re confidential.”

His lip curved downward, moving the edges of his artfully structured stubble just so. That he was trying to be so careful around me was a stab to my chest.

“Really? But Kelly’s been talking about it.”

My eyes widened. Kelly was talking about me and my case? Shit.

“What’d she? Actually, no. I don’t want to know.”

I shook my head and studied the countertop. So much for wanting honesty from him. The last thing I wanted to hear was anything Kelly might’ve said. She hated me more than Tristan did.

His voice was softer, almost difficult to hear over the clatter and bang of his coffee cronies as they worked behind him, fulfilling orders that he could’ve done himself.

When I looked up at him again, he was frowning down at me. “Sorry, Nik. I didn’t mean to–”

“It’s okay, Tristan,” I said, looking away, trying to stop myself from staring at his sculpted cotton-tee-covered chest.

I hated being this way with him. I hated knowing that only a handful of months ago, he was one of my best friends. Why couldn’t we go back to how we were before I opened my big offensive mouth? Why couldn’t I stop acting like this around him?

He pursed his lips and gave me a tight nod, his deep brown eyes lingering on my face as he waited for me to say more. I didn’t.

Lilly, his employee and Uncle Henry’s lovely niece, handed over my latte with an extra shot of espresso, my usual. Of course, she also handed over my baklava. My beloved baklava. Made exactly the way my mama used to make it, with cheese inside instead of nuts, because she knew I hated the way they jammed between my teeth. I told myself it was the main reason I kept coming back here, despite all the changes Tristan made since he bought Extra Shot from sweet, kind, Uncle Henry.

I caught a glimpse of his expression as I latched onto the syrupy little cake, and he was smiling as if I morphed back into the girl he used to grind coffee beans with.

“I’ve always wondered where you put those.”

I furrowed my brow at him. “In my mouth.” His eyes traveled to my lips while his own curved into a smile that was way too sexy for a man who frothed milk all day. Damn him. How was it possible that being in this weird awkward phase made him seem even hotter than he used to be? “Where else should they go?”

He broke into a full grin, eyes twinkling as he shook his head and turned back to his coffee machine. “You make it too easy, Nik.”

He let out a chuckle as I cocked my head and opened my mouth, hoping a quippy response would come to me, when the customer behind me cleared their throat; a non-verbal nudge that I should move out of the way.

I gathered my goods and moved to sit in one of the gray leather cushioned booths I’d complained about, and dug into my pastry.