Page 92 of Cream & Sugar
It’saslowmorningat the café. By the time nine a.m. crawls around, I’ve served a grand total of ten customers, mostly takeaways and none of them particularly chatty. That’s probably a good thing. My mind is still reeling from the past couple of night’s antics and even the most basic of tasks feel like trying to solve a Rubik’s cube blindfolded.
Freddie's been staying at mine since Monday. Suffice to say, we haven't been getting much sleep.
I’m still processing it all. I can’t shake the image of him—naked on all fours with his mouth around me—out of my head. Not that that’s a bad thing. I think I’d get it permanently tattooed on the inside of my eyelids, if I could.
That boy is living rent free in my head. What else is new?
Freddie’s on his phone in the same corner he's occupied for the past two days. He's tethered to the wall socket by a charging cable as he scrolls and swipes the screen, pink tongue poking out in concentration. He's supposed to be looking for temporary night-shift jobs as part of his plan to pay his brother back faster, but I know a man lost in a doomscroll when I see one.
“You want a coffee?” I call over to him. He doesn’t seem to hear me. I throw my voice harder: “Earth to Freddie?”
“Huh?” He glances up, looking slightly frazzled. The fact he's wearing one of my old t-shirts which is about two sizes too big doesn't help.
“Coffee?”
“Oh,” his eyes snap back to his phone screen. “Sorry. No thanks, handsome.”
I blush at the compliment, but find myself wondering if young people these days really are addicted to their phones. Guess that’s a price I’ll have to pay if I’m going to date a guy more than ten years my junior.
I sound so old.
So old and very muchnotstraight.
Gosh, how did I go my whole life thinking I was? I suppose, in a way, I’m glad. If I’d known earlier, my first experiences might not have been with Freddie, and now it’s happening, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Or anyone.
The bell above the café door rings and I tear my eyes away from Freddie to greet the customer that’s just walked in.
“Hi, Shauny!”
My entire spine shoots out of my arse.
“Lara!”
Too late, I remember her text. Her smile morphs into a frown at my obvious confusion.
“Did you forget I was coming?”
“No!” I fib. “Sorry. It’s been a busy morning.”
I gesture limply to the deserted café. It’s a terrible lie and Lara’s face tells me she doesn’t buy it for a second.
She folds her arms. “I can come back another time, if you like?”
Yes please, my subconscious screams. Or better yet, not at all.
“No, don’t be silly!” My mouth moves on its own. “Would you, um, like a drink?”
“Oh sure, the usual please, babe.” Lara’s gaze flicks over to the corner where Freddie sits staring at us. “Hi, Frankie!”
Freddie, understandably a little baffled, waves half-heartedly back at her.
“Hi, Laura.”
Stifling a laugh, I tell Lara to take a seat before getting to work making her a caramel macchiato. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her choose a table uncomfortably close to Freddie’s and strike up a conversation with him. I can’t hear a word over the sound of the steam wand, but I assume the worst. Panic rattles through me, but I’m not sure why. It’s not like I’mwithLara anymore. She’s got Viggo. Plus, Freddie and I haven’t even talked about what we are yet. There’s just something a little disconcerting about the girl who broke your heart and the guy who put it back together again having idle banter in your own place of work.
I make Lara’s coffee as fast as I can and rush over to interrupt.
“Caramel macchiato, extra drizzle!” I hand Lara her sickeningly sweet drink. “Shall we?”
