Page 19 of The Scars Within
I made my way to the bustling cafeteria and headed straight for the espresso station. A second-year cadet who had worked the station last year is supposed to show me the ropes for the first few weeks. After that,I’ll be on my own. As I grabbed an apron off the rack, I spotted my trainer from the corner of my eye.
Tying it around my waist, I called out, “I’m here.”
“You’re late.”
The tone startled me—I was only five minutes late. I turned to respond but froze when I met his striking gray-blue eyes.
Rhodes. Just my luck.
“Only five minutes,” I said, snapping back at him. No way was he going to make me feel incompetent today.
“Five minutes too late, Thorne. Do you know when most people like to get their coffee?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“First thing in the morning. How will they get their coffee first thing if no one’s here to make it?” His voice dripped with sarcasm.
Rhodes, sarcastic? Of course. Why wouldn’t he be the last cadet I’d want as a mentor? Why had he even chosen this assignment the previous year? Maybe he didn’t have a choice.
“Won’t happen again. Just leave me some notes on how this station runs. I’ve got plenty of experience making coffee and lattes—I can handle it.”
“You may have experience, but you don’t have experience here,” he said, wiping his hands of coffee grounds. “So no, you’re stuck with me for a few weeks. Try not to be a thorn in my side, and we won’t have any problems.”
Thorn in his side? Did he just throw a pun at me?
I narrowed my eyes. It’s only a few weeks. I’ve survived worse. Maybe I could even impress him with my skills and get him off my back.
I washed and dried my hands before asking, “Mr. Rhodes, may I make myself a cup of coffee before we start?”
Rhodes gave me a narrow-eyed look before nodding toward the coffee machines. I started the drip coffee pot and loaded a fresh linenfilter with coffee grounds. Rhodes called from the pantry as I lined everything up to brew.
“Here.”
I turned to see him sticking his arm out of the pantry, holding a white mug.
“No, not that one,” I said, making my way to the pantry filled with mugs and glasses. I slipped in without thinking about how narrow the space was. The moment I entered, I caught a hint of cashmere sandalwood and vanilla. Rhodes stood barely a foot from me, and the dim light cast shadows across his face. After experiencing him being an asshole yesterday, the last thing I want to admit to myself is how beautiful he is. But I can’t help but look up at him, his eyes locked on mine. The air around us stills with tension, and my heart begins to beat a little faster.
Apprehension sets in, and I avert my gaze.
We moved in unison, him turning toward the back as I faced the shelves. Scanning the rows of mugs, I spotted the one from initiation day on the top shelf.
“That one,” I pointed, glancing over my shoulder.
I figured he’d help me reach it, given our height difference. But instead, he turned and walked out.
Seriously?
“Rhodes,” I called as frustration bubbled up.
“What?” he asked, appearing in the doorway with his hands casually in his pockets.
I didn’t say a word. I just kept pointing at the mug and maintained eye contact. A few seconds of silence passed before I realized he was intentionally making this difficult.
Sighing, I asked, “Why can’t you just grab it? I’m too short without a stool.”
“You didn’t ask.”
Of course, that was his reasoning.
