Page 4 of The Problem with Princes
Her eyes go big, and she taps her fingertips together. “Really? Oh, can we please wait?”
My flaming skin says no, but Texie gives me her practiced pouty look and I cave.Ugh! I’m such a pushover. I nod.
She drops herself into a chair at a nearby table.
“Can’t we at least wait outside? It’s such a nice day.” Plus, I know if I sit in here smelling all the delicious scents, I will just keep buying treats until I have to be rolled out the door. That’s not a pretty picture. I take another bite of my pastry. “I bet it’ll be getting cold in DC by the time we get back. I plan to enjoy every minute of the sunshine while I still can.”
I move toward the door as Texie waves me away, not moving from her position as sentry over the glass case. “I’ll be out as soon as the baklava is done.”
I let out a little chuckle. Does she really think she’ll miss out on the entire tray if she waits outside? I guess if this is the only two-week period that she eats carbs, maybe I should cut her some slack. Besides, why do I care where Texie waits? I need some quiet time anyway. It makes it easier not to focus on the burns sizzling into the deep tissues of my abdomen and legs.
I sit down at a little cafe table and twist the cap off my water bottle, relishing the feel of the cold liquid running down my throat. I carefully lift my shirt and gently place the cold bottle against my burn. A new set of tears form in the corners of my eyes, before I pull the bottle away and let my shirt drop back down.
I glance up and down the street. Thankfully, there is no sign of MA or his henchmen. The guy may still be in the middle car, but I can’t tell through the tinted window. The three sleek black Range Rover SUVs are still parked in front of the coffee shop across the street. I cringe at the thought of coffee.
People walk up and down the street. A couple holds hands, talking quietly to each other as they walk past the bakery. Two men chat, their hands moving about wildly on the sidewalk across the street. Are they tourists like me or are they natives of Atraxia? This is why I love people watching. I can give them whatever backstory I want.
I put my elbow on the table and drop my chin into my hand. Who is MA anyway? After the whole coffee debacle, I know he is entitled. The muscled men with him had acted like bodyguards. Which probably means he is entitled,andfamous.
Why is the lifestyle of the rich so engrossing? I’d just experienced firsthand the arrogance they possess, yet still there is a draw to keep watching. It’s like a car accident. You don’t want to see the carnage. Except you can’t help but look.
Tanner had been rich. I’d felt a similar fascination with him when we’d first started dating, though not to the same degree. It’s probably why I had held onto the relationship even after I realized it wasn’t healthy. I just couldn’t look away. I push the thoughts of my ex-boyfriend from my mind.Heis not going to ruin my vacation.
I sit back up and pop another bite of the cream-fill delight into my mouth.
I know what kind of man MA is, and I want nothing to do with him. I’m here to relax and enjoy myself. Picking up the last bite of the first pastry, I chew it slowly, letting every flavor glide over my taste buds, and resume my observations of this charming little street. I refuse to let either my ex-tool or the tool I just met ruin my vacation. I release a breath, pushing both men from my mind.
A clicking sound catches my attention and I look farther down the street. A man, an adult from what I can see, is riding a skateboard up the cobblestones. His baseball hat is pulled down low, shadowing his face.
My nose and forehead wrinkle in disdain. What the heck? Does he not realize I was enjoying the ambiance? And it doesn’t include skateboards. Why would someone choose a cobblestoned street to ride on, anyway? There must be other streets that are paved and smooth. Why must all these men vex me so? (I must be really ticked if I’m thinking in Pride and Prejudice language.) I have never once pictured a skateboarder in any of my idyllic Pied Piper of Hamblin scenarios.
He pushes his skateboard along with his left foot, stopping in front of the shop two stores away from the coffee shop. The man stands in front of the window for a few moments, then turns and makes for my side of the street. Only he doesn’t make it more than three steps before he stops abruptly and drops to his knees, as if he is searching for something. He moves slowly, crawling toward the rear vehicle in the line of SUVs.
I glance down at my cream filled pastry. I was planning to take it back to the hotel, but now I’m thinking I should just eat it here. I mean, I don’t want to get this flaky crust all over the carpet of the room, right?
The sweet smell of cloves drifts from the bakery. The baklava must be out of the oven. Maybe Texie is right. The baklava smells A. Maz. Ing.
I pick up my pastry and take a bite, glancing over at the skateboarder. But he isn’t behind the rear SUV anymore. He is stretched out, face up on the skateboard, slowly making his way up the street under the SUV’s. He glances around and I quickly drop my pastry back into the box and pretend to look for a napkin. But I look back at the man from beneath my lashes. Hmm. Apparently, people really do that, not just flirtatious girls in romance novels.
He pushes himself slowly out from under the front bumper of the SUV in the back of the line.
I lean forward, slightly on the pretense of finding my phone under the lid of the box. What is he doing under there?
He disappears again under the middle SUV—the one the driver got into. This time he stops. He reaches up into the undercarriage of the car, but he is too shadowed and far away for me to see exactly what he is doing. Why is the man fiddling with one of MA’s cars? My lips lift into a half grin. Maybe this guy has spilled coffee on Ares’s shoes too.
But in spite of the grin, my stomach starts to churn. Something isn’t right.
The man drops his arms down and slides, much faster than he moved his way forward, back under the rear SUV and out from behind it. He rolls off the board and again pretends to be searching the ground for something. When he stands up, he flips something in the air, like he just found what he had been looking for. If I hadn’t watched the entire thing happen, I would think nothing of it.
He looks over and I drop my eyes to my phone. My stomach sinks into my toes, and I freeze. What should I do? Does he know I watched him? After a minute I chance a glance up through my lashes to see him watching me. Pretending to use my finger to scroll through something on my screen, I see him pull his brim down lower. It’s hard to decipher his facial expressions. He puts his foot on the skateboard and rides off in the direction he had come from.
The little hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and goosebumps dot my arms. But these are not the same kind of goosebumps I’d had at the cliffs. Well, I guess they are the same kind, because there are only one kind of goosebumps. But their causes are completely different.
What had I just witnessed? I take a shaky-handed drink from my water bottle and wipe the back of my knuckles over my lips. Putting my half-eaten roll into the box, I stare at the corner he disappeared around from the side of my eyes. The pastry in my guts sours and I can’t even think about eating any more. Stupid Skateboard guy totally ruined my pastry. I fold the lid down and wipe at the crumbs on the table, but all the while I’m glancing over at the corner. Has he seen me watching him? And more importantly, will he come looking for me later?
I shake my head, trying to remove all the episodes ofCastleandCSIfrom my mind.
The guy had glanced over his shoulder at me, but I had closed my eyes and taken a large bite of my pastry. Hopefully, he thinks I’m as oblivious as so many people in the world are these days.
