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I couldn’t recall our relationship beingfunat all. That relationship—if you could even call it that—was straight up toxic. All we did was fight and break up. The only reason we kept getting back together was because we were young and stupid and driven by hormones. But, again, that wasn’t something I felt like getting into just then.
“You know what? Never mind. It was good seeing you, Riss.” I patted her on the shoulder and took a step back. “Enjoy the rest of your day.” With that, I turned away from a bewildered Larissa and moved toward the counter.
My steps stuttered when I saw that it wasn’t Monica working the shop today. It was Presley’s best friend, Colbie, standing behind the counter, an apron in Drip colors with the Drip logo tied around her front. She was currently standing there with a deer-in-the-headlights expression on her face as she stared at me.
I couldn’t help but smile, wondering if maybe my shitty day was finally taking a turn. I hadn’t been able to track down the one woman I wanted to see most, so her best friend was definitely a close second. “Hey, Colbie. Good to see you.”
She blinked owlishly wide eyes. “Uh... it is?”
“Of course.” I gave her my most charming smile, hoping it would warm her toward me. It was the same smile I’d used in countless magazine article spreads—when they weren’t wanting me to, in their words,smolder. Whatever the fuck that was. It was the smile I used during interviews and red-carpet events I’d been forced to, and hopefully it would disarm her enough to get her talking about her BFF.
I knew that wasn’t going to be the case when she went from wide-eyed to suspicious in a single beat. Her eyelids narrowed into slits and her head canted to the side as she studied me. “What’s happening right now? What are you up to?”
Well, that certainly hadn’t been the reaction I’d expected, and I had to admit, it threw me off my game a little. “What are you talking about? Can’t a guy be nice?”
I’d misjudged this woman, that was for damn sure. I thought she’d be easy to sway to my side so she could talk me up to her friend, but she had a hell of a lot more steel in her spine than I’d given her credit for. That was my mistake.
She slapped her hands down on her hips and hit me with a look that screameddon’t bullshit a bullshitter.
“Forgive me, but I don’t think you’re all that nice.”
Well ouch.
My head jerked back, my chin tucking into my neck. “You don’t think I’m nice?”
“I don’t,” she said firmly. “Have you forgotten? I’m friends with Presley Fields. Have been for years. And I know exactly the kind of jerk you can be because I saw how you treated her. You made high school hell for her.”
I didn’t miss the fact that she hadn’t said anything about college, so I could only assume Presley never told her about what went down between us. I wasn’t sure if her keeping a secret like that from her best friend was good or bad. I was under the impression that women told each other everything. Was she so ashamed she’d never told anyone what happened?
I pushed that thought to the back of my mind to deal with at another time and held my hands up in surrender. “I can’t argue with that. But it’s been fifteen years. I’d like to think I’ve changed since then. That I’m not the same little asshole I was when I was in high school.”
I caught the flicker of understanding in her gaze before she covered it up. Her only response was to hum noncommittally.
“Look, how about we start over, yeah?” I extended my hand across the counter for a shake that she didn’t take me up on.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “If you’re serious about starting over, you should start with Presley, not me. You owe her about a million massive apologies from my count.”
I arched a brow, one corner of my mouth pulling up with it. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to tell me where I could find her?”
She grinned then, a wicked little grin that let me know there wasn’t a chance in hell of that happening. “Ha! Fat chance.”
“Okay, fine. But can I at least get a coffee to go?”
On that, she relented, thank Christ, because after dumping the cup earlier that morning after my mom’s visit, I hadn’t had a chance to make myself another, and the headache the lack of caffeine caused was worsening by the hour.
She moved behind the counter, banging away on the complicated-looking machine. Whatever she was doing looked complicated as hell, but she radiated confidence. Clearly, she knew what she was doing back there. Finally, a few minutes later, she handed me a tall paper cup with a lid on it.
I looked at her with the same level of suspicion she’d given me earlier. “You didn’t poison this, did you?”
Her eyes rolled to the ceiling. “Please. If there’s one thing you should know about me, it’s that I’d never compromise the integrity of my coffee.”
I started to laugh but when her expression didn’t change, I realized she hadn’t been kidding and quickly swallowed it down. I lifted the cup to my face, leaning in to sniff the concoction she’d just made me through the tiny hole used for drinking. I was hit with the scent of cinnamon and something else that had that same sweet spiciness. “What is it?” I asked, my top lip curling up ever so slightly. “I usually take it black.”
She gave me a put-out look. “It’s perfection in a cup, that’s what it is. And you can drink your boring black coffee when you’re at home.”
Well consider me properly scolded.
She arched her brow, arms crossed over her chest once again as she watched me, like she was waiting for me to take a sip so she could see my reaction live and in person. So much for chunking it in the trash the moment I walked out the door.
