Raking his eyes up and down my body, “What? Because you’re not as fat as you were, you think you’re attractive to him now? He was with some blonde at a party just last weekend. A hot, skinny girl that you will never be. Ever wonder why he never takes you to the after-game parties or anywhere other than the fitness center? Jesus, open your eyes,” he rages.
How dare he say these things to me, “Kohl is a friend. I have no delusions about what he is or isn’t. He was with a girl last weekend, good,” I lie. Knowing he was with someone else cuts like a knife but I can’t let Wren know it. “We hang out, we work out together, I help him with his homework, he helps me exercise. It is what it is. I’m more attractive to me and that’s all that matters. I don’t give a fuck what you think, what Kohl thinks, or anyone else. I care what I think. I want to love me. So, you run home to mommy’s house and cuddle up with your comic books and superheroes. Have a good holiday, Wren,” I retort stomping away from him and entering The Brew Station.
“Ten, wait,” he calls but it falls on deaf ears.
My blood is boiling. I want to hit something or someone so badly. Wren for his hatefulness, Kohl for his seductive words and flirty ways. I go to the bathroom to splash some water on my face. Staring at my reflection I still see the girl I have always been. Thick glasses, round cheeks, my face a little thinner than it was. I’m still the plain fat girl. Sighing in sadness, I know I need to love myself and I’m getting there but Wren’s words bleed into my soul bringing all my insecurities front and center. Drying my face, pasting on a fake smile, I approach the counter.
Leah, a girl from one of my classes is the barista, “Hey, Ten. What can I get you?”
“Oh, hey Leah. I forgot you worked here. Are you hiring right now?”
“Yes, oh my god, yes. Everyone left for break and we are seriously short staffed. Are you wanting a job?”
“I sure am. Can I get an application?”
“You’re in luck, the boss is here right now, fill this out and I’ll get him to talk to you. We really need you to start right away. You want a coffee while you fill it out? On the house?” she says handing me the application for employment.
Taking the sheet and a pen, I reply, “Yeah, I would love a skinny mocha latte. Thanks, Leah.” I replied moving to a table in the corner. I can’t get Wren’s words out of my head. He was so mean and callous. I have Ronnie and I think I have Kohl, even though him jumping from girl to girl is eating at me, I don’t want to lose Wren. His moods are all over the place, I swear he’s suffering from male PMS.
Focusing on filling in the blanks on the paper, I jump when someone slides into the chair across from me, pushing a cup of coffee in my direction.
“Skinny mocha latte, right?” a deep voice rumbles.
Raising my eyes to the see the source of the sexy sound, I see a man who matches his voice. Dark tanned skin, deep-set whiskey colored eyes reflecting the green of the apron he’s wearing, floppy brownish red hair hanging over his forehead, chiseled face speckled with freckles and a day’s growth of stubble, wide shoulders covered with a white button-down shirt and a cocky grin are sitting across from me.
Extending his hand, he says, “You must be Tensanne. I’m Archer. Archer Boyd. Leah tells me you’re in search of a job?”
He’s a vision in an apron. I swear I heard angels singing when I met his amber colored eyes. Reaching my hand to his, “Y-yes. I’m Tensanne Craig,” a spark zings through from my finger tips to my palm when our hands meet. “You know men suffer from PMS, it’s called IMS. Irritable Male Syndrome. They suffer a drop in testosterone, losing some of their mojo causing them to be bitchy, irritable and angry.” I babble.
Mr. Boyd’s eyebrows arch to his hairline and his mouth hangs open.
“I’m sorry, oh no. I-I tend to blurt useless facts when I’m nervous. Please don’t hold that against me,” I beg, slapping myself for being such a spaz around handsome men.
His lips slowly start to rise until his face is lit with a large smile, “I was unaware that men have PMS, I may be able to use that information someday” he laughs. “Do you have any barista experience?”
“No. I have a little soup kitchen experience but I’ve never worked with coffee. I’m a quick learner though.”
“Are you available to work over break and once the semester starts again?”
“Yes, as long as you can work around my classes and tutoring schedule.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem. Do you live on campus?”
“Yes.”
“Can you start tomorrow?”
“Really? Yes, what time?” I ask bouncing in my chair.
“We open at six a.m. But I think it would be best to start training you after the morning rush, so be here at ten a.m. Welcome to The Brew Station Team, Tensanne Craig.”
“Thank you, Mr. Boyd. I’ll be here at ten.”
“I’m not much older than you, Tensanne. Please call me Archer.”
“Ok, Archer,” I agree, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks. I hate how I blush all the time. I would love to have a stern poker face but no my stupid face turns red and gives away my
