Page 51 of Demo
“Getting an oil change,” he answers, tossing a busted paper cup in a nearby trash can and shaking coffee from his hands. He’s not wearing his work gear, instead sporting jeans and a plain black T-shirt. The bright koi fish tattoo he got a couple years ago to cover up the terrible Joker on his forearm on display. “Are you OK? Did you get burned?”
I suddenly remember the hot liquid that I’m now wearing. “No. I mean, yes, I’m OK. No, I didn’t get burned.”
We stand there like assholes for a minute, then he notices my car at the pump. “Do you need to go pay?” he asks.
I let out a puff of air through my cheeks. “The damn pump is giving me shit. It’s telling me to see the cashier.”
I hear a chuckle from Knox as he starts heading toward the pump.
“I can just get the guy,” I say, but follow him anyway.
“You’re pulling the card out before the chip reader is done,” he says, standing in front of the pump, his wallet now in his hand as he slides a credit card out of it.
“I am not!” I argue. “And I can pay for my own gas.” I try to push him out of the way with my hip but he’s unmoving. Also, that’s a ridiculous statement because we still have joint-everything, credit card accounts included.
“Look.” He inserts his card. “Now just wait a second.” After what seems like an eternity, I hear the machine beep and “PLEASE REMOVE YOUR CARD” flashes across the tiny screen.
“You always pull the card out too fast,” he says as he takes the pump out of the holder and slides it into my tank.
I roll my eyes, and he suppresses a laugh which, in turn, softens me. “Ass,” I say.
We stare at each other for a beat. “I am,” Knox says seriously. “An ass. I am the biggest ass on the planet.”
So not in the mood, I open my car door.
“Wait,” he says, as I hear the pump click off, and he re-holsters it. “Can we get coffee?”
I stand with one foot propped up on the floor of my car, arm resting on the open door. Truth is, I want to. I miss him. And after the experience I just had, I could use his presence. But I also don’t want to, because I hate him.
“Please, Lizzie. I mean, you kind of owe me, since you spilled the coffee I just bought.”
I know I should be kind since he’s trying to be lighthearted, but I can’t be, so I say, “I don’t owe you anything, Knox.”
“No. No you don’t.” He shakes his head. His answer is immediate and appreciated. He sticks his hands in his pockets and looks down at his shuffling feet, then back up at me.
Damn, I always had trouble saying no to him. I sigh. “Fine.” I jerk my head toward the passenger side of the car. “Get in.”
We end up at a cozy hipster joint not far away. I take my hazelnut double-shot latte with skim milk over to a love seat with oversized pillows and sit on one side. Knox follows behind with his black coffee and, instead of sitting next to me, falls into a bean bag chair right in front of me.
“Really?” I ask.
“Hell, yeah!” he replies. “I haven’t sat in one of these in years.”
He looks ridiculous, with his long legs bent and spread to the sides like a spider’s. He has got to be uncomfortable, but I know he’s trying to respect my boundaries.
“You’re never going to be able to get out of that thing,” I say as I blow steam away from my mug. We sip our drinks in comfortable silence for a moment. The din of the coffee shop swallows each of us up, with acoustic music wafting through varied conversations among nearby patrons.
“So, are you working today?” Knox breaks our silence.
“Yep. I was just coming from the police headquarters.” I wrap both of my hands around my oversized mug.
“Oh, yeah? How is Scotty these days?”
“Douchey as ever.”
Knox locks his eyes on me, picking up the edge in my voice. “What’d he do?”
“He’s just not making things easy for me right now.”
