Page 14 of Skate the Line

It only takes her seconds to get my coffee and ring me up.

I spy a tip jar on the edge of the counter, and being raised the way that I was, I place my last dollar inside.

“Thank you so much!” she exclaims as if she isn’t used to tips.

I leave her with a genuine smile and turn to find a spot that faces the door so I can see when Rhodes walks in.

Or is it Mr. Volkova?

Shit, what do I call him?

The back booth is open, and I make my way over with my steaming coffee while still arguing in my head over what to call him.

I have four minutes to spare.

Maybe I’ll call him Mr. Punctual since he didn’t want me to be lateafter giving me a half-hour notice.

Every time someone steps into the coffee shop, my heart does a little flip. I’m nervous, and I know it’s because I have a lot riding on this job. Going back to Washington is my very last option, though I'd love to be back with my nana, even if she is in the nursing home.

It’s just that Ican’t.

For reasons unbeknownst to her.

After fixing my clip and taking a deep breath, I sip on my coffee and wait.

The street is lined with cars and passersby walking their dogs. My stomach fills with nerves the longer I wait.

I turn toward the door, and as if he was waiting for the clock to strike 10:30 exactly, Rhodes Volkova walks into the coffee shop, stealing all the air in the small establishment. His presence demandseveryone’sattention, even the sweet little toddler sitting on his mother’s lap.

A tight swallow moves down my neck as I watch him from afar. His broad shoulders take up the entirety of the doorway, and his black sunglasses do nothing to hide the stern look on his face.

My gut is never wrong.

Rhodes Volkova is every bit intimidating as he is attractive.

I continue to stare while he takes two long strides and makes it to the counter. A coffee is placed in his hand, and he puts a twenty in the tip jar before spinning and scrutinizing everyone in the restaurant.

I should stand up and get his attention, yet I can’t seem to move.

A little boy runs inside the door and stops abruptly in front of Rhodes. He looks down, and the little boy’s curls flop backward as he tilts his head. Rhodes bends and pushes his sunglasses upto his thick, effortlessly messy brown hair and gets on the boy’s level. I try to make out whatever Rhodes is saying to him by reading his lips, but it’s too hard to decipher. The boy’s father runs in after him, and just like that, Rhodes is back to standing up and swinging his gaze around the coffee shop.

I glance behind me to see if there is something there that is making his jaw tighten with anger.

But no, it's just me.

In this tiny booth.

All alone.

Rhodes pulls his sunglasses down, and it does nothing to hide the annoyance. In reality, it takes no more than five seconds for him to make his way over to me, but it feels like an entire lifetime has passed.

I tilt my chin and stare at him from the leather booth.

“Hi,” I squeak.

His eyebrows rise above his Oakleys.

Hi?Oh my god. I silently groan.

---