Emery
A busy Friday night at the coffee shop is made easier with Rowan working alongside me. She’s been at the register non-stop while I’ve steamed at least five gallons of milk in as many hours. The place is packed with college students caffeinating up for a night of partying.
“You good?” Rowan calls over to me between orders.
I dust cinnamon on a cloud of foam and pop a lid on it. “Mara!” I call out the name on the order and turn to my co-worker. “I’m good. How long does this rush last?”
“Until close.” She checks her watch. “Not too much longer.”
I’m buried in an order of espresso drinks when the sound of booming male voices walk through the door. Snarled curse words and low-pitched laughter create a hush over the room. Judging by the look of excitement on Rowan’s face, I’d guess her boyfriend just walked in, and he’s not alone.
“What are you guys doing here?” Rowan asks, as I busy myself with wiping down my workspace that looks more like a milk and coffee murder scene.
“Pit stop before we hit up a party.” The sound of their quick, hard kiss meets my ears. “I told these assholes I wouldn’t go unless you came with me.”
I peek up at Rowan who looks like she was just invited to an execution. “I don’t want to go.”
Hiding behind a wall of espresso machines, I can feel Theodore’s presence in the room, my skin practically vibrates with awareness. I’m sure he wants me to look at him, acknowledge him in some way, which is why I keep my head down.
“Please, Ro?” That pleading voice is deeper than Carey’s and I guess it’s his roommate whose dick speaks sign language. “Carey never goes out with us anymore. This party is supposed to be huge. We have a game tomorrow so we won’t stay long.”
“But, um…” She seems to scramble for an excuse. “I smell like coffee—”
“I love it when you smell like coffee,” her boyfriend says with a hungry rumble in his voice.
“I don’t have a change of clothes—”
“Who the fuck cares. I think you look sexy as hell.”
I roll my eyes at their back and forth.
“I’ll go if Emery comes with us.”
My gaze snaps to Rowan who looks at me expectantly. “What?”
“Come to the party with us.” The woman still looks scared out of her mind, big eyes, pale face…although she always kind of looks like that. “You’re new to the school, this could be a great opportunity to meet people.” Her eyes beg.
Unlike Rowan, nothing scares or intimidates me. I shrug. “Sure, I’ll go.”
“Thank God,” she says, her shoulders lose most of their tension.
“Sweet,” Carey says. “We’ll hang out until you ladies get off.”
I resist the urge to peek at Theodore as they walk back through the café and out the double doors.
We close up shop and freshen up in the bathroom. Carey and his roommates are waiting for us at one of the concrete tables outside Bean Madness. I recognize Kaipo, and one of the blonde guys who approached me in the locker room. I allow my eyes to move beyond them to the man sitting on the table with his feet on the bench. His knees are wide, his elbows braced against them, and his hands dangle carelessly in between. I take him in, from his black Doc Martins and dark denim jeans to his white T-shirt that hugs his biceps. His colorful tattoos stand in stark contrast to the blank canvas of his clothes, and his hair is pushed back off his face showcasing a strong forehead and powerful jawline. He looks like a poisonous James Dean.
He glares at me in a way that might scare most women.
“Alright, let’s roll,” Kaipo says with a loud clap of his hands. “I’m thirsty as fuck.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Rowan says from her place within her boyfriend’s arms. “I would’ve made you something.”
The big guy winks at her. “I’m not thirsty for something you can provide, sweetheart. Unless Carey is willing to share—ow, fucker!” He rubs the spot on his chest that Carey punched. “That hurt!”
“I’m going with Rowan.” Carey pulls her away toward the parking garage.
“Wait.” She pivots to look at me. “Emery, come with us.”
“I have a car, I’ll just meet you there.”
She squints, as if she’s trying to read my intentions. “You don’t know where to go.”
“I’ll ride with her.” That deep, dark, lazy voice crawls through me and I resist the urge to smile. Theodore slides off the table and moves close, crowding my space.
“Let’s go before they run out of beer,” the bigger of the two blonde guys says.
As a group, we make our way toward the parking garage and Theodore’s arm occasionally brushes against mine as he never allows more than a few inches of space between us. The scent of his cologne tickles my nose—spicy, mysterious, and dangerous.
Halfway to the car his steps falter. I turn toward him wondering what struck him to stop so suddenly.
“You’re driving coaches truck.”
“I don’t have my own car.” When he doesn’t move, I ask, “Is this a problem for you?”
His expression is as cold and emotionless as always. “No.”
I hit the key fob and climb behind the wheel. I move my book bag from the front seat as he climbs inside. I leave the radio off plunging us both into awkward silence as I navigate through the narrow garage.
“Take a left,” he says when we hit College Avenue.
From my peripheral I see him boldly watching me. Challenging me to do the same. Theodore isn’t the impossible puzzle I assumed he’d be when I first spotted him in the bar. He’s clearly a man who is accustomed to a woman’s attention. Expectant even.
Because of that, I continue to ignore him.
I get off on watching him squirm.
Spider
Emery and her fucking sweater sets.
Pale blue cashmere against her delicate collarbone, the fabric hugs her feminine curves, and those pearl buttons, beg me to touch, bite, and rip. I was hoping she’d
