Page 20 of The Worst Kind of Promise
A frown cuts across my face. “Of course they are. They can’t wait to see you,” I reassure her.
I hold the door open for her, receiving a small smile as she steps into the bustling coffee shop. The aroma of coffee grounds waft through my nostrils, luring me to a display case of overpriced pastries and breakfast sandwiches. Not worth it, but substantial after days’ worth of junk food.
She shies behind me. “But I probably ruined their bachelor plans.”
“Bachelor plans?”
“Yeah, you know, the Three Bs: booze, boobs, and bed,” she explains matter-of-factly with a cocked hip.
Amusement threatens to split my lips into a beaming grin, but I tamp it down. “You think that’s what we do for the entire summer? Drink, fuck, and sleep?”
She deadpans. “You’re a house full of mostly single, professional hockey players.”
I shuffle forward a bit as the line dwindles, the chatter of the shop growing in volume as names and orders are shouted from behind the register. Flashes of green uniforms teleport around the packed space, and the hiss of machines only adds to the chaos of the Friday morning—patrons ranging from students with deadlines, authors with writer’s block, and everyday customers with a hankering for watered-down caffeine.
“Ye of little faith,” I tsk, shaking my head. “Iwould never be so reckless, or so promiscuous.”
Faye bursts out into a loud goose honk, doubling over, even wiping invisible tears from her eyes. “Oh, God. That’s funny. Which is saying something since you’re very unfunny.”
“I’ll have you know, I amveryfunny. You just don’t understand my charm.”
“Is that what we’re calling it these days?”
“I’m going to leave you stranded here.”
“I’d like to see you try. I bet you wouldn’t even get that far before missing me.”
She’s got me there.
Without saying anything, I bide my time by looking over the chalk-scrawled menu, deciding on a sausage, cheddar, and egg sandwich, a blueberry muffin, and an Americano, while Faye settles on some cake pop monstrosity, along with a sugary, pink drink that gives me a cavity just looking at it.
I eye her as I swipe my credit card through the card reader. “There’s not a lot of protein in that,” I say, nodding to the cake pop now gripped in her hand.
“Must you comment on everything I do?” She takes a big bite just to spite me.
I grab the little baggy that has my sandwich and muffin. “I’m just looking out for you, Princess.”
Okay, I’m aware that pet names aren’t really keeping things “platonic” between us, but I can’t deny that it doesn’t suit her. Blame it on a Freudian slip. I don’t see her as some damsel in distress that needs to be saved; I see her as a princess who deserves to be adored, to be spoiled, to be tended to at her beck and call. And fuck, I’d give anything to be her prince.
While we wait for our drinks to be made, Faye and I stay a good distance apart, but it doesn’t feel natural. We’re close enough that it’s obvious we came together, but not close enough to reveal the nature of our relationship. No brushing of shoulders or hugs from behind. No discreet smiles or mindless talk. Just…space.
It’s too early for me to be awake, much less for my nerves to be eating away at me. “What do you want to do this summer?” I inquire, catching her off guard.
“I haven’t really thought about it,” she answers, swallowing the last of her dessert and tossing the stick into the garbage.
My free hand scopes the start of stubble peppering my jawline, and I faintly remember the way her palm felt brushing over it. “This is your summer, Faye. No school, no work, no responsibilities. You can do whatever you want. It’s like a vacation, but in a more disgusting part of California that has zero beaches and an influx of heroin addicts.”
“Hmm, when you put it like that…”
I wait for her response with anticipation, my eyes doing a slow drag over her pursed lips, the fold of her arms that just so happen to conveniently push up her tits, the nervous twitter of her foot against the tiles.
“A day out on the water would be nice.”
“That’s it?”
“Yep,” she replies, keeping her focus on the stressed barista behind the counter. Faye’s standing right next to me, but she’s staggered herself a bit—maybe in a futile attempt to escape this conversation.
I don’t have to move much thanks to my long stride, and I stop right behind her, dipping my mouth to the hollow of her throat, a single breath away from making contact. “Don’t you want to do something more…exciting?” I whisper, watching a shiver unravel through her body. I don’t touch her. I hover like a specter, either waiting for her to fight or flee, but the raised hairs on the back of her neck are warning enough that she’ll do the latter.
