Page 7 of Pucking Matt
Chapter 3
The espresso machine hisses like an angry cat, and I fight the urge to hiss right back at it. It's been one of those mornings at The Grind Stone – the kind where every customer wants their coffee "extra hot" and their bagel "lightly toasted, but not too light." As if that means anything. I picked up this extra shift because I can’t stand all the work piling up from the firm. Plus, Mr. Robinson gave me the morning to work from home. Instead, I picked up this extra shift to help my mental health. This is supposed to be my fun job, and I never work mornings. Now I know why I should keep it that way.
I'm in the middle of creating latte art that looks more like a blob than a heart when Jen nudges me. Hard.
“What?” I snap, nearly ruining Mr. Pretentious' seven-dollar coffee.
“Look who just walked in,” Jen whispers, her eyes wide.
I glance up, ready to tell her I don't have time for her boy-watching shenanigans when I see him. Matthew freaking Pearson. And he's not alone.
Matt and his friend are both wearing shirts with the Honey Badger logo – the University’s hockey team. It hits me then: Matt used to play for our high school team. He was good, too. Not that I'd ever watch him play, but I did consider sabotaging one of his games. I didn’t follow through with it because I decided I wasn’tthatpetty. I have gone to one game in secret to see what the fuss was all about. That’s when I saw Matt and Grey throwing punches on the ice, their gloves discarded like litter. I remember cheering on Grey to kick his stepbrother’s ass, even though he was a dick too. I was happy to witness the moment.
Jen's still staring at me, waiting for a reaction.
“You take care of him,” I mutter, focusing on the latte again.
“He has his eyes on you,” Jen says, a hint of amusement in her voice. “I don't think he wants to order from me.”
I look up to see Matt's eyes fixed on me, a smirk playing on his lips. Shit.
“Jen, please,” I whisper, desperation creeping into my voice. “I have three briefs to review for the firm, a mountain of emails to answer, and I still need to prep for my LSATs. I don't have time for Matthew Pearson's bullshit today.”
I don’t.
“But–”
“Take one for the team. Please?”
As Matt and his friend approach the counter, I physically push Jen towards the register. She stumbles, nearly knocking over a display of biscotti.
“Welcome to The Grind Stone,” Jen says, her voice unnaturally high. “What can I get for you?”
Matt's eyes never leave me. “I'll have my regular,” he says, his voice dripping with arrogance.
I can't help myself as I turn to him. “I told you to stop coming here.”
He grins, all teeth and no warmth. “Where's the fun in that?”
Then he throws something at me. It hits my side as he says, “You can have your raisin back.”
I look at the ground where the raisin is now, and I swear I feel steam rolling out of my nose, ears, and mouth. Matt grins again.
That’s when I notice his friend, who is looking between us, confusion written all over his face. He seems nice enough, so I decide to appeal to him instead.
“Will you tell your friend to stop coming in here when I'm working?”
The guy nods, turning to Matt. “This worker would like to inform you to stop coming here when she’s working.”
Matt chuckles. “Tell her that if she can't handle a little customer service, maybe she should find a new job. Preferably one that doesn't involve interacting with the public.”
I grit my teeth, snatching the order pad from Jen's hands. “I'll take your orders,” I growl.
As I jot down Matt's usual, I turn to his friend. “And for you?”
“Okay, she knows your order.” His friend says to Matt. “Okay, I won’t ask.” He looks at me and says, “Me? The same sandwich but with a black coffee, please.”
“Name?”
