Page 12 of Love at Second Down

I pause in front of the coffee shop, waiting as someone exits before I slip inside, lured in by the nutty aroma of freshly roasted beans and pastries. The scent wraps around me like a warm hug, improving my outlook slightly. I don’t have a lot of vices in life, but coffee is one of them, and the baristas here have come to expect my twice-daily visits, knowing my order by heart: acaramel macchiato with half syrup and two shots of espresso, hot in the morning, iced after noon. It’s a hell of a lot more costly than a couple of cheap beers, but thanks to the full ride I got to AAU, I can afford the habit. Thank God for small blessings.

The line moves and I shuffle forward as the person in front of me begins to place their order, feeling my mood lift at the prospect of caramel and caffeine. My gaze flickers to the bakery case and I resist the urge to order dessert. Now is not the time to indulge. I’ll have plenty of opportunities after the season is over. The sugar in my drink is bad enough. The guys get on me about my penchant for “girly drinks” all the time, and if I order a pastry too, I’ll crash, and the last thing I need is to be sluggish on the field when Coach is riding our asses harder than usual.

I tear my gaze from the giant chocolate chip muffin to the counter where the barista works. A waterfall of blonde curls shields her face as she dips her head to reach for something beneath the counter, but when she lifts her head, eyes like the finest of whiskeys hit me like a gut punch.

The breath whooshes from my lungs, and my heart does a traitorous flip inside my chest.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

When in the hell didshestart working here?

My feet move on instinct, and I start to turn, but I’m only halfway there when the customer in front of me takes his coffee and pushes past me for the exit, leaving me in the spotlight.

“Damon?” her voice calls out, and I close my eyes, fighting the urge to scream, because I’ve been caught red-handed trying to avoid her. My only choice now is to save face and place my order like a fucking man. Anything else will make me look like an idiot?or worse, like I’m so affected by her presence, I have to leave. But this ismyterritory. My school. My fucking coffee shop. I was here first, dammit. If anyone needs to go, it’s her.

Bracing myself to face her again, I slowly spin back around and head for the counter. A forced smile turns to a grimace as her gaze tracks my face, as if searching for answers to questions she never bothered to ask.

“Let me guess,” she says after a moment, “an iced caramel macchiato, half syrup, and two shots of espresso?”

Shit. Of course she remembers my coffee order. I’m nothing if not habitual, the most fucking predictable creature on the face of the planet.

It’s only out of spite that I shake my head. “Nope. Ahotvanilla latte,allthe syrup, no whip.”

Ha! Take that. You don’t know me like you think you do. I’ve changed. Things have changed.

I narrowly avoid dragging a hand over my face.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Her smile falters for only a moment before she nods and gets to work making my drink while the other barista fills the order of the customer behind me.

“When I saw your coffee cup the other day, I wondered if you still had your regular coffee habit.” She glances behind her as she works, as if waiting for some kind of response on my part, but I just ignore her, staring straight ahead. But despite my best efforts, I find myself watching her movements like a hawk and looking for a mistake. Something, anything, to complain to her manager about. Call me a Petty Betty, but it would bring me joy to make her life just a little bit harder.

“Do you still watch what you eat during the season, too?” She turns with my drink, stirring in the milk while she stares up at me expectantly.

When I don’t answer, she babbles on, talking about the snow outside, how big the campus is, and some other nonsense I don’t care to follow. All the while, I wonder what in the hell she’s doing working at a coffee shop when her family has enough money toown every coffee chain in the state of Michigan. Hell, make that every Starbucks in the whole fucking country.

Finishing my drink, she pushes the cup toward me, her hand lingering a beat longer than necessary as our fingers brush, and I try not to notice the tingling sensation where our skin meets?a brief zap of static that only pisses me off more.

Scowling, I cock my head as I gaze down at her through narrowed eyes. “I’m surprised an Astor is serving coffee. Seems a littlebeneathyou, don’t ya think?”

The words are meant as a dig, and when I catch the way she flinches, I know they hit their mark.

“Yeah, well,” she glances down at the counter and steps back, “I might be an Astor by name these days, but not much else.”

I search her expression, wondering what she means. I want to ask, but I refuse to show an interest. She’s no longer my business. The girl standing in front of me may as well be a stranger.

When her lips part to continue our one-sided conversation, I quickly back away from the counter and turn for the door, cutting her off before I push outside. The burst of cold greets me like a slap in the face?or maybe that’s the aftershock of Avery.

I inhale the crisp winter air like a drowning man, trying to catch my breath when someone calls out, “Hey, Damon!”

I jerk with a start, glancing to my right where Chris’s girlfriend, Charlotte, a petite brunette with dark hair and equally dark eyes grins up at me beside Brynn, Jace’s blonde sweetheart.

“Hey!” I press forward, pulling Brynn into a giant bear hug and practically sweeping her off her feet. Relief floods through me at the sight of the familiar faces, needing an anchor to the present and not the past where my mind is residing. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh . . .” Brynn stiffens, clearly unused to such a warm greeting from me. “Getting coffee?”

I pull away, staring down at her. With any luck, Avery is still watching in the giant shop windows, and if she happens to think Brynn is my girlfriend . . . well, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. “Right. Well, it’s good to see you,” I say, my tone friendlier than normal.

---