Page 16 of Keep Your Guard Up
“What you gonna eat?” she asked me, lifting a dark brow at me. Her dark cocoa skin was glimmering with sweat. I thought about the collective seventeen dollars I had until Knock’s started paying me on Friday.
“Nothin’. Just the coffee.”
“Pfft. He’ll have the same as me,” JJ told her and handed over a crisp fifty-dollar bill. The register dinged and the cash drawer popped. Nancy handed JJ back his change, which he dropped straight into the cracked plastic jar that had a piece of masking tape with ‘TIPS’ written on it. The older woman’s face softened as she shot my friend an appreciative look.
“You really didn’t have to, man,” I said lowly, a twang of shame following. JJ had known I couldn’t afford to buy a fucking breakfast—not with every damn cent I had tucked away in an account no one could get to. Not me,or anyone.
Idiot. Should have fought to take more.
“You’re the one who left the big town life to move out to little ole’ Soggla. Least I can do is buy you a decent brekky.” He shrugged, though he didn’t meet my eyes.
“I’ll get you back for it,” I promised.
JJ was about to respond when two young girls, no older than thirteen, approached the table.
“H-hi, JJ,” the shorter one with the long blonde braids stammered. The taller one, a gangly brunette with a grown-out buzzed haircut, waved shyly and fiddled with her glasses.
“Hi girls,” JJ greeted, flashing an award-winning smile at the very clearly swooning girls.
“W-we just wanted to say hi a-and invite you to the next show we’re putting on.” The blonde girl’s face flushed pink under her freckles. “We’ve already reserved you two front row seats b-but no pressure if you can’t make it! We know how busy you are and there will be another three shows this year so—”
“I’ll be there,” JJ interrupted softly, taking the flyer from the taller girl’s hands and placing it under his phone and wallet to stop it from flying away.
“O-okay, great! We’ll see you there! T-thanks again!” She grinned a smile full of purple and pink braces and tugged her star-struck friend away to the next table.
“What was that all about?” I asked when they were far enough from earshot. The flyer under JJ’s belongings was bright orange with bold black writing on it and lots of exclamation marks. Punctuation aside, the aesthetic reminded me of Knock’s.
“Just local celebrity things.” JJ waved a hand. “Maybe I should start wearing a disguise. How do you think I’d look in a fake moustache?”
“You do realise you’re a man and you have the ability to grow a real moustache?”
“Pfft, rookie. Everyone will know it’s me then,” he replied.
“Not gonna lie to you, mate, but you don’t exactly travel incognito.” I gestured to the people around us, who were taking up significantly less space in their chairs than JJ and I were. Then I waved a hand up and down his right arm sleeve tattoo.
“Long black in a tub.” Nancy appeared at my side, holding the biggest cup of coffee I’d ever seen with a foamy, precise layer of crema on top. I immediately took a sip, ignoring the burn from the temperature, and almost moaned in relief. Real, non-instant coffee, made by a competent barista.
Coffee snob.
“And your iced chocolate coffee.” She plunked down what could only be described as an oversized chocolate sundae.
“Christ, JJ,” I chastised.
“What?” he asked innocently, slurping on the diabetes-in-a-glass. “I trained this morning.”
“Yeah, for an hour. Not amonth.”
He shrugged and used the long spoon to start breaking off pieces of the almost raw brownie surrounded by whipped cream.
“Don’t be jealous that I don’t have to cut weight for my fights.” He slurped obnoxiously at a spot in the glass where the liquid hadn’t quite replenished.
“Just because you don’thaveto doesn’t mean youshouldn’t,” I replied, taking a deep gulp of what could only be described as sex in a mug.
We sat, guzzling away at our drinks and spitting shit, when Nancy dropped a bomb in front of the both of us. A literal bomb. I don’t think I’d ever seen an eggs benedict so loaded up. My mouth watered at the half a dozen eggs on my plate stacked on top of what appeared to be thick as fuck potato rosti and crispy bacon. A profuse amount of creamy hollandaise sauce was drowning everything underneath it, but it had parsley and chives floating on the top, making the dish look somewhat healthy with the pop of green.
“Enjoy,” Nancy said over a shoulder before waddling away, crocs squeaking underneath her. The woman smelled of cigarettes, coffee, and bacon. I’m assuming at least one of those was stashed in her apron.
There was absolutely no time for talking as JJ and I dug in to the masterpieces we’d been served. Reality TV hadnothingon this amazing race. The flavours, textures—everything was incredible. If my coffee was sex in a mug, this was an orgasm on a plate.
