Page 5 of How (Not) to Conjure a Boyfriend
Maybe I don’t participate, but that doesn’t mean I can’t spectate. Who hasn’t watched the Black Friday videos from the 2000s on YouTube? People stampeding into stores and over each other. Men fighting women and guys half their size for a gaming system. Camping outside stores for a TV or baby doll.
“Tekken 8!” he yells.
Thank the old gods we have no customers right now.
“Tekken?” I ask. A video game.I should have known. The only games I play areThe SimsandTetris, otherwise my computer is useless. I don’t even own a gaming console.
“Yeah,” Landon says. “It’s a fighting game. Sort of like—”
“I know what it is.” I roll my eyes while the wheels grind in his head. Landon goes to Mitchell High, the same school as Hayden. I met him when I started working here, and we’ve gotten along well. “It’s like…likeMortal Kombat.”
“Uh…no.” His face contorts into what I think is dismay. “It’s not a gore-fest, and—”
“I get it, it’s a fighting game,” I say.
“Yeah, yeah, but they added a heat gauge, and they’re bringing back the Rage Drive!” Landon starts listing things I’ve no clue about. He keeps going. Something about how cool the stage destruction is going to be and something else about a new character. “I mean, technically it’s an upgraded character. It’s Jack-8. He’s getting a laser cannon and giant drill this time!”
“Ah.” I nod.
“So what are you doing instead?” he asks.
“Nothing…” I shrug. “Sleeping in. I’m definitely sleeping in. Maybe play someSims. Oh! And I might go up to Waterrock Knob. Check out the crashed Cessna up there again.”
“Trespass. You mean trespass?” Landon grins.
“No.” I roll my eyes. How can it be trespassing? It’s just the wreckage of a plane that crashed years ago. It’s not a house.
“Sure. Why did they never clear that up anyway?” Landon asks.
“I don’t know. That was what, like twenty years ago, right?” I think. It was before I was born at least.
“I think.” Landon shrugs. He stands up and heads to the back. “Speaking of twenty, it’s twenty till closing. I’m going to mop the dining room.”
“Good idea,” I say, and grab a cup. “I’m going to make myself a drink before I clean the machines. You want anything?”
He rounds the corner with the mop and bucket. “Sure. Give me a peanut butter frappe.”
“Coming right up,” I say in my best mock customer service voice, which is basically my voice, but an octave lower. He laughs and slaps the mop on the floor. I can hear the water splashing across the hardwood as he sloshes it around.
I pull another cup and my mind goes into autopilot. Milk, a little finely ground coffee, the blender, then pour into a cup. I start again for Landon’s drink, and as I’m drizzling peanut butter around the cup, the front door chime rings and the door creaks open.
We werethisclose to closing. I’ll let Landon handle it. Iammakinghisdrink after all.
“Oh, hey.” Landon greets whoever it is like he knows them. Must be a regular. “Just be careful, the floor is wet.”
Whoever it is grunt-laughs in response as Landon comes back around the counter. I ignore it and pour his peanut butter blend into a cup.
“Kenzie,” Landon says. His voice raises to this awkward tone. “What was it you said about that tall guy who always comes by late?”
“You mean Mr. Dreamy?” Hayden’s face blossoms like a movie reel in my head. “Have you seen his eyes?”
I sigh longingly and shake the compressed whipped cream container. Gods, his eyes. Never before have I seen such gorgeous grays. I know it’s cliché to say they sparkle, but seriously, they do.
“Yeah, him.” Landon clears his throat.
“What about—” I turn.
My fingers clench around the canister. It’s Hayden! Oh my gods, it’s Hayden. And I was just saying…shit. I flinch, and cream squirts from between my fingers like fireworks. It rains down, splashing on the countertop and my chin. Hayden’s eyes widen, and he starts to laugh. Instead of letting go, my body tenses again from the sudden cold froth on my skin, and another stream of whipped cream flies through the air and coats my shirt. Shit!
