Page 9 of Bookish Boys Don't Date Social Girls
“How long have you worked here?” I ask. I’m just going to act like we know each other well enough for small talk.
“Only a couple of months.”
I raise my eyebrows at his comfort with the complicated coffee maker. “Do you have previous barista experience? Because you sure know your way around that machine.”
He flashes me an ironic look. Even the arch of his eyebrow is elegant and draws me toward him ever so slightly. “Quick study, I guess.”
I sigh inwardly and rock back on my heels. He must not have picked up on my sarcasm. I told the girls we wouldn’t have anything in common.
He sets the coffee mug in front of me and grabs the croissant from the oven. “Making mochas is a nuanced skill that I’m thrilled to be learning at the tender age of seventeen. It will take me far in life.”
I let an appreciative grin spread slowly across my face. An unexpected thrill of pleasure shivers through me at his return sarcasm. “You might be the first celebrity barista of our class if you keep this up.”
“A guy needs goals.”
I glance at the total on the register and hand him the appropriate cash. He hands me back my change and I place it in the tip jar. Tucking the book under my arm, I pick up my coffee and plate. “Magazines?”
“Far back corner.”
“Thanks.” My blood buzzes from our little exchange.
At the back of the store, I discover a tall magazine rack stretching across an entire wall. This might be our small town’s most comprehensive periodical selection. If only I’d known sooner. I set my stuff on a table and browse the racks until I spot a favorite magazine of mine that I never find on a magazine rack.
“Oh my gosh!” I exclaim to no one in particular, snatching a copy from its holder and plopping into the cushy armchair. I haven’t read this magazine in over a year. I’m so excited to know I can find it here at the bookstore. I flip a few pages to scan the table of contents. An interesting title catches my eye, and I turn to the story in the magazine. A lovely black and white illustration accompanies the piece. I study it for a bit to see what sort of clues it offers about the story, but I’ve never been good at picking out subtleties. Bek is excellent at it.
I’m engrossed in the story when I bring my croissantto my mouth and bite it. Chocolate squeezes out the back and I lunge forward so it won’t fall onto my white blouse. Luckily, the dollop of chocolate ends up in my palm. I carefully place the croissant back on the plate and eat the chocolate off my hands. I realize I have nothing to clean my hands with, so I wind my way to the front of the store, hands in the air to avoid touching anything.
Brent sees me coming and arches an eyebrow. A single eyebrow. It’s a sexy look and makes me blush. I can’t believe this bookish boy can make me blush, and I want to burst into a fit of giggles. Instead, I explain my approach. “I forgot a napkin.”
He leans across the counter and tugs a couple from the dispenser, handing them to me as soon as I’m close enough.
“Thanks.” I wipe my hands as I walk back to my spot. How have I not noticed how cute Brent is before? I think about the few times I remember seeing him around school or at football games, and I don’t remember seeing him with a girl. Maybe I’m not the only one to have overlooked his adorableness.
About twenty minutes later, he wanders to the back of the store and picks up my now empty plate. “Would you like another mocha?”
“No, thank you.”
He points to the magazine open in my lap. “Great taste.”
“Oh my gosh, I was so excited to see you guys carry this.”
“I asked the owners to bring it in. I got hooked on it in Mr. K’s Lit class, sophomore year.”
“Me too!”
“Next month’s edition comes in early next week.”
I hug the magazine to my chest. “I’m so excited. I’ll be back for that, for sure. I totally would have bought this one even if I didn’t get chocolate on it.”
He laughs and oh. My. Heart. Stoppage! His smile is thesunshine. My mouth hangs open as I stare up at him and my pulse carves a “B” on the wall of my heart.
“Are you always such a messy eater?” he asks.
“No. I suspect you sabotaged my croissant.”
“Darn it. You found me out.” He grabs my mug and turns toward the front of the store.
“What did you mean?” I blurt. “When you said, “that makes sense” earlier?”
