Page 6 of The Desert Prince's Jewel
Sam often insists that our equipment is reliable, but if you ask me, they crave retirement. But I’m the co-manager, and I don’t have the authority to make decisions solo. Besides, I don’t complain about his odd obsession with running our machines until they blow up, seeing as he’s also obsessive about maintaining them.
Sam’s another guy juggling a lot, including a big family as a single dad, but he seems to carry his responsibilities more gracefully than I ever can. I admire that about him, wanting Sam here more often to help guide this perpetually half-sinking ship. Though sometimes, even though it’s a contradiction, I wish he were off more than Tuesdays and Saturdays, because he’s so damn responsible and perceptive. And of all my coworkers, I feel like he can see through my charade the most.
With that thought in mind, I keep up with the customers more briskly, trying not to allow my mind to wander again. Nobody likes it when I sulk, least of all me. And I know it’s because they don’t want me to be sad. But a nagging voice in my head convinces me it’s because they think I’m annoying.
By the time the orders slow down and we have a bit of a lull, I’ve convinced myself everyone not-so-secretly hates my guts.
Again.
When I can afford it, I’m getting on an antidepressant, that’s for damn sure.
“Ow!” A bony elbow digs into my side, dragging me away from yet another depressive musing. And despite the ache in my ribs, I’m grateful when I turn to see Cy flipping his ombre black and red hair from his forehead with a grin.
I met Cy in some seedy gay bar downtown, and somehow hadn’t ended up sleeping with him. Maybe I’d been too drunk to get my dick to work. But either way, we woke up slobberingover each other in an equally seedy motel room and became fast friends. When his most recent sugar daddy kicked him out, I found him a job at the cafe. But I have a strong feeling he won’t last long here. So, I enjoy his company while I can, sporting a matching grin.
“So…” Cy says in a sing-song tone as I lift an eyebrow.
“Sooooo…?” I mimic him, and it would sound like I’m mocking him if someone watching didn’t know about our relationship.
He leans in and whispers so only I can hear, “Sooo, when were you going to tell me you were fucking a south asian superstar?”
I blink and then chortle so hard I almost bite my tongue. The sound that cuts through my throat is too high-pitched and screechy to be a chuckle, and my eyes bulge out of my head.
“Trust me, I wouldn’t be shacked up on my ex’s couch if I had a superstar boyfriend, Cy,” I snap back.
Cy chuckles, but it doesn’t sound like he’s amused one bit. He’s pissed, which makes me even more confused.
“What?” I ask as we trade places, my eyes darting fretfully to the new round of zombified patrons mulling around the menu.
“Well, by the way he’s eye fucking you from across the cafe, I thought he’d at least dicked you down by now,” Cy contends. “Look, if you’re hiding your new boyfriend from me, I’m going to be pissed! I thought we were best friends!”
My mouth drops open in confusion, not yet looking where his eyes point. We’d had some real superstars pass through our place. A Forest Kingdom noble wandered in here once, summoning a Snow White effect where all types of song birds perched by our sign for days.
It was cute and all, sparking a social media frenzy and a lot of revenue, which made Sheena a happier woman than she already is. But then we were tasked with cleaning up all the bird shit left behind as customers cooed about their beauty.
I shudder, feeling like I’m still coated with the sticky white and green dung. Cy digs his nails into my skin, his skull-shaped rings pressing into my shoulder blades, nudging my shoulder until I turn around and see what’s what. And when I do, my jaw all but slams against the coffee cup I clutch to my chest.
Holy shit! He is hot. He looks rich. And he’s looking right at me!
A man with a mullet of midnight black curly hair and almond-brown, sun-kissed skin comes into full view, sitting in the corner with two equally gorgeous men. But I can’t be bothered to look at them closely as I stare athim.
He flexes his shoulders, piercing, brassy gaze boring into me. I swallow the lump in my throat, choke on it, and start hacking so hard that tears sting my eyes. The stranger’s hooded eyes narrow, the unnatural yellow-brown, almost golden hue intensifying as his pupils dilate. I gulp, nearly choking on the lump in my throat yet again.
He looks oddly familiar, like a real movie star ripped from the big screen. I did have a phase when I was younger where I consumed any romantic drama I could find, even dubbed and subtitled international movies and TV shows. Telenovelas were my go-to, seeing as I grew up on them, but I dipped into other countries’ soap opera pools too.
But that can’t be right. No movie star hanging around Cafe Magnifique would bother gawking at me, so I chalk the odd familiarity up to the fact that all wealthy, super ripped, drop-dead gorgeous men resemble movie stars anyway.
Either way, he’swaytoo hot to be staring so intensely at me; I squirm. My mystery man nods, inclining his head towards the back door, and I blink absently.
Is he trying to get me to follow him? No way,I think, but the customer does it again.
I make a show of looking around, certain that Cy is pranking me somehow. But when I point at my chest with a shaking finger, the hottie’s upper lip curls, and he hisses. Like, audiblyhisseslike a snake to the point that the surrounding patrons flinch.
Okay, so he’s definitely not human. That would explain his supernaturally good looks.
Instead of following him, however, I ignore the man for the rest of my shift. For one, he’s some random, and I’m not following him anywhere private. Two, if I did, I don’t trust slutty Mateo not to invite him somewhere even more private. Three, following a stranger to the alleyway sounds like the beginning of every horror movie I’ve ever seen.
The day goes by quickly, and I don’t even notice when the trio leaves the cafe. Next thing I know, my shift is almost over. I ask Cy to take something to the storage closet, since I hate tight, enclosed spaces, and that door jams all the damn time. I only go there when I have to, and now I’m making myself sad again since I may have to camp out in my car again soon. That’s if I get kicked off the couch I plan on sleeping on tonight.
