Page 119 of Under Pressure

“Great. I’ll head out, then. Congratulations, by the way,” Quinn says, already backing up to the door.

Stay.

She doesn’t.

41

“What if hetakes one sip of this and then spits it out or something?”

Eli stares at me, then down at the cup in my hand. When his eyes lift again, they’re lined with humour.

“I don’t think anyone would do that with an iced tea. Only sociopaths don’t like iced tea.”

I use a wet rag to clean the drops off the side of the cup. If I hand Beck a sticky cup, I may as well be acting once again like I don’t care about him. This has to go right. All of it.

“It’s not real iced tea. There’s like half the sugar content in here, and it tastes more like actual tea than anything else.”

“Okay, so you made it for him knowing he wouldn’t like it, then?”

“No. Of course not.”

He sighs. “You’re not making sense.”

“Sorry. I just need this to be perfect. I’m afraid it’s going to take me forever to find his perfect drink. And then what? I watch him fall in love with a beautiful blonde with big, luscious tits and a natural love of baseball? What if she likes spicy food as much as he does? Fuck, this isn’t going to work.” I dump the drink into the sink and swipe the back of my hand across myforehead. As the ice cubes clink together in the drain, I ask, “What do you think about a matcha latte?”

“Does he like matcha?”

“I’m not sure, but I know a recipe is around here somewhere—” I crouch beneath the blender and dig in the cupboard. “Yep! Here it is.”

Armed with my nan’s recipe book, I’m already feeling more confident. There isn’t a single drink in existence that she hadn’t tried making her own version of. This book is where I got all of the recipes on the Blank Page menu. It’s never led me astray.

“Okay. I’m starting with matcha. Do you think a latte or lemonade? Nan did both, but she put a note that the latte is better. Though she was really picky about how she’d drink hers.”

Eli hesitates for just long enough to draw my gaze. He blinks when he realizes I’m staring and quickly says, “Latte is probably a better starting point.”

“You’re right.”

So I get to work.

I’ve never been great with matcha, but I spend way more time than I should perfecting it right now. My idea is tiny compared to everything he’s done for me. It was the first one to come to mind when I decided that I was going to fight for him, though. If he doesn’t take me back after this, then I’ll respect that decision, even if it kills me.

I just . . . I need to try. He deserves to have someone work for him the way he did for me. Every day that he came here and guzzled his least favourite substance in existence, he did it with a smile and the hope that it would warm me toward him.

It worked. Only it was who he is beyond his efforts here that won me. Now, it’s on me to return the favour and win him right back.

“What time does the game start?” I turn my head to Eli while pouring milk over ice.

He squishes a lid onto the takeaway cup in front of him. “Just after four.”

“Shit. I’m going to have to bring this to the stadium, then.”

Panic has me dumping the matcha in way too fast. I swallow my frustration.

“You can still get close enough for that?”

“I’ll figure it out. Don’t freak me out right now, or I’ll puke and dash.”

He chokes on a laugh and waves a hand in the air. The ice cubes in the latte shake as my hand trembles around the cup. Staring at the chunky mix of green and white, I almost wish I’d chosen the brown compostable cups rather than the clear ones. At least I could hide the terrible job I’ve done that way.