Page 35 of Desperate Pucker
I’m still feeling on edge from arguing with my dad. He’s called or texted me multiple times over the weekend, trying to get me to reconsider that event at Hollis University.
As I walk into the entrance of the arena, I push the thought away. It’s a brand new week at work, and I don’t want my bad mood from last week to bring me down.
I walk through the entrance and stop at the small coffee kiosk at the far end.
“Could I please have an iced Americano with cinnamon?” I ask the barista.
I pay for my drink and step to the side when I hear a familiar voice behind me.
“Iced coffee when it’s below freezing? You really are an ice princess.”
I turn around and see Ryker standing a few feet behind me.
I felt bad for how hard I was on him during our skating lesson. He was right—I was in a bad mood because of my dad and taking it out on him, which he didn’t deserve. This wholeweekend, part of me planned to apologize to him. The other part of me thought it would be better to forget about it and go on like normal.
He looks at the barista. “Do you have any diamond-encrusted cups for her coffee? She’s used to the princess treatment.”
The barista smiles and shakes her head.
He turns to me and shrugs. “Guess you’ll have to just drink out of a to-go cup like us peasants.”
Irritation shoots up my spine. I guess I’m taking my cues from him. He wants to move on like normal.
I glare at him. “Shut up.”
Ryker ignores me and goes up to the counter.
“Could I please get a hazelnut dark roast with an extra shot of espresso and a splash of non-fat, non-dairy milk?”
I hold back a laugh. “Wow. You have the coffee order of a sorority girl.”
The barista muffles a laugh before turning away to make his order.
His bourbon eyes narrow when he looks at me. We stand off to the side in tense silence while waiting for our drinks.
When he turns to grab a napkin out of the dispenser, I sneak a look at him. He’s wearing dark jeans, a wool coat, boots, and a dark green sweater that brings out the golden-green flecks in his eyes.
He looks like he stepped out of a high-fashion men’s magazine.
“You’re overdressed for physical therapy,” I say.
“I don’t have physical therapy today,” he says. “I’ve got a meeting with Coach Porter, then I’m going to lunch.”
“With your favorite inflatable sex doll?”
The corner of his mouth twitches like he’s about to laugh, but he pulls his lips into his mouth.
“I’m taking my mom out for her birthday later,” he says.
A tiny burst of warmth hits my chest. That’s really sweet that he’d get dressed up to take his mom to lunch.
“Oh. That’s…nice of you,” I say, totally thrown off.
The barista calls out my name, and I pick up my coffee. I thank her, then walk toward the stairwell to head to my office on the top floor.
I stop when I see orange cones and yellow construction tape blocking it off.
A guy in an orange vest walks by. “What happened to the staircase?” I ask.
