I decide to order the drinks ahead of time since the place is so busy, grabbing a spot in one of the two lines.
A boy in the line to my right glances over and our eyes meet.
His are a startling green, vibrant and saturated and engaging. Mostly, they brim with a steady confidence that seems to supersede even the jewel-tone brilliance of the color. My lips part of their own accord, and it takes several slow, shudder-y breaths for me to realize that I’m gawping like an idiot.
“Hi.” He says it first which is good because when it comes to talking to potential love interests, ehh. Not one of my strong suits. Apparently, I’m an expert at insulting people though. Parrish and Chasm have taught me that.
“Hi,” I reply, feeling a bit stupid as I tuck a tendril of lime green hair behind one ear. I’m used to plugging myself into games, leaving the real world behind in favor of online interactions. But this could be good, right? It could be really good. This dude is hot as hell, way hotter than Parrish or Chasm. Well, at least as hot, and with a much better personality. I try to take it as a positive sign, some call from the universe that life in Washington doesn’t have to be completely shitty for me.
“How are their chai lattes here?” he asks me, and I can’t decide if it’s because he just thinks I’m a chai latte sort of girl or because that’s the drink that he’s into.
“Dunno,” I reply laconically, criticizing myself in my own head for not being as well-spoken as I’d planned. Get it together, Kota! This guy, whoever he is, is the complete opposite of Parrish. Instead of feeling a sudden and inexplicable hatred, I immediately feel a connection to the stranger standing opposite me. “I just moved here a week and a half ago—against my own will, I might add.”
The guy chuckles and we both move forward simultaneously in our respective lines.
“I’m here on a day trip,” he says absently, studying the menu and then shrugging. “I’m ordering drinks for the group.” He flashes me a grin, and I flash one right back, pointing at myself and drawing his attention to my Ashnikko t-shirt beneath my overalls. The grin shifts into an understanding smile.
“Same,” I reply, checking my phone briefly to see if Maxine’s responded to my text asking what her new boyfriend likes to drink.
Hates coffee. Get him a watermelon Italian soda. I’ll pay you back.
I find my gaze shifting over to the guy again. He’s watching me, and something about the way he’s staring makes my stomach flip-flop dangerously. Such a better crush than Parrish, I think to myself only to begin vehemently denying that I have a crush on my stepbrother at all. Gross. Wouldn’t that be romantic cliché cray? He’s a jerk with a jerk for a best friend and a stepmom that just so happens to be my birth mother.
I banish the thought where it belongs, to the murky waste bin of my brain. Won’t think about that ever again. Abuse isn’t love, and I’m not some hapless teen in a novel who can’t tell the difference. Besides, I really do hate the guy. Who wouldn’t, in my situation?
“What sort of day trip?” I query, just as the guy starts to turn away from me and back toward the menu on the wall above the baristas’ heads. He doesn’t look back at me, but his full lips do shift into a smile.
“Visiting a friend,” he says absently, and then frowns. “Well, I came here for a different reason, but …” He pauses to look over his shoulder, surveying the café as if he’s searching for someone in particular. “There’s a party tonight. Two of my best friends are going, and even though I graduated last year, I might pop in to check on them.”
I wonder briefly if it’s the same party that Lumen and Danyella mentioned, the one that Chasm’s going to, and that Parrish is supposedly sneaking out for.
That dick.
He was going to bail and leave me at home to pick up the pieces. I’d hate him more for it if I weren’t the one who’d already bailed out on our grounding.
“You’re in college?” I ask. It seems pretty obvious. I mean, where else would he have graduated from but high school? Still, I can’t seem to think up another question to ask. My palms are sweaty, and I’m starting to wonder if the hand of fate—which I normally don’t even believe in—isn’t involved somehow.
I’m not usually attracted to people I just met, and this guy is … well, there’s something different about him.
“Yeah, the U of O,” he says absently, and my brows go up. The line moves forward yet again. I smile. I’m about to mention Maxine and then maybe, just maybe, ask this guy for his number when he turns to me with an apologetic sort of expression on his face.
