“We sharing now?”
She shrugs. “Why not?”
“Don’t really have one. Grew up on a ranch a hundred miles from here.”
“Wow, that’s cool, didn’t picture you as a cowboy.”
“You still shouldn’t.”
“I don’t know. Kinda seems like it’d be a good look on you.”
“Oh yeah?” I grin. “Am I headlining your fantasies tonight in a Stetson and nothing else?”
She rolls her eyes. “So, have you always boxed?”
“I’ve been doing both for a while. If I had my way and I could afford it, I’d be training in both. Ball is more accessible.”
She walks over to where I stand. “So, don’t let it stop you. Are you good?”
“Money doesn’t grow on trees, Priss. College is expensive enough. I boxed a lot when I was younger, amateur stuff. I was pretty good. I’ve kept up with the conditioning, but I put the gloves down when ball started sabotaging all my time.” It’s not the complete truth, but it’s close.
Twisting my torso in a stretch, I crack my neck and catch her checking me out. She’s…cute in an odd way: gorgeous halo blonde hair, deep brown eyes, and nose with character. Her lips are on the thin side but shimmer under a layer of something glossy. Her body and attitude are a lethal combination. I like the sassy personality that collides with the sweetness in her voice. She catches my raking gaze and shies away from my appraisal, crossing her arms.
“Whatcha thinking about over there, Priss?”
“Nothing, enjoy your…whatever.”
I lift my fingers as if I’m tipping a hat and give her a slow, suggestive wink.
Red-faced, she heads to her side of the box.
Lance
“Lance,” the barista bellows out as she sits my coffee at the end of the counter.
I pick it up and take a sip. “Thank you, Laney.”
“Put an extra shot in for you today.”
“Appreciate it.”
“Anytime,” she drawls out, “you’re one of the few I like around here cause you always leave a tip.” She lifts an expectant brow and gestures towards the half-empty jar sitting on the counter. I chuckle, emptying my pockets before stuffing a few dollars into it. She’s a cute, petite, doe-eyed brunette, with an adorable accent and feisty attitude, but I refuse to shit where I’ve eaten seven mornings a week for the last year. And she’s got one hell of a ‘don’t eff with me’ vibe going on.
The coffee shop is close to campus, and lately, I’ve had to bide my time here after practice until gym time in an attempt to save what little Uber money I have. I didn’t plan to sell my truck when I rented a room fifteen minutes from campus. The decision so far has been a hard pill to swallow. Between the safety of the coffee shop and snagging rides where I can, I may make it to the end of the season without landing myself into more debt. Another reason I don’t mind frequenting the shop is the girl sitting on the torn-up pleather couch flipping through her tablet while pretending to ignore my presence. In all honesty, it’s the insanely toned, mile-long legs that draw me in as I make my way towards her.
“Morning, Priss.”
“Jolly Green Giant,” she says without glancing up.
I’m chuckling as I take my favorite seat opposite her. “What are you reading?”
“I’m not, I’m watching a video,” she says, turning the screen my way so I can get a look. “Couldn’t get into a book so I’m studying a new routine.”
Stretching out on the overused chair, I sip my coffee. “Not listening to the music?”
“This thing is so ancient the sound goes in and out.”
“Sucks.”
“Uh hmmm…staring is rude.”
“I’m having a hard time believing you’re shy.”
She shrugs. “I’m not shy.”
“You hardly ever look at me when you speak to me.”
She rolls her eyes before lifting them to meet mine.
“Better.”
“Careful, that coffee may stunt the growth of your ego.”
“I can’t help you’re good for it. Though I’m taking it, you’re not a morning person?”
“Negative.”
“Shame,” I stretch my legs out on the ottoman in front of me. “I’m a wake up with the birds, hit the gym, sunny side up type of guy.”
“Opposite. I’m a wake up, throw my alarm clock, curse the breath of life, and stomp around with my eyes closed until I hit water type of gal.” She smirks down at her tablet, and I chuckle.
“So, what are you doing here?” I look around the mostly empty shop. “School hasn’t started yet, why are you hanging out so close to campus already?”
“Creature of habit. This is where I get my cram sessions in. And I still live at home, so this place is my getaway.”
“I’ve never seen you here before.”
Her eyes dull. “You’ve never noticed me here before.”
“Don’t take offense, Priss. I keep mostly to myself.”
“Oh, I’m not offended, but it seems I’m not lucky enough to go unnoticed today.”
That has me grinning like an idiot. “Admit it, you like me. And last night you bit your lip more than once thinking about me in the nude wearing only a hat.”
“Puh-lease, unless your name is Shawn Mendes, you are not in my fantasies.”
“What’s a guy got to do to get in your fantasies?”
She tips her coffee, her eyes alight with surprise.
“Cat got your tongue?”
“You’re more like a hairball, Prescott.”
“Ouch.”
“Yo, Lance,” Patrick calls my name as he enters the coffee shop. He barely glances at Harper and kicks the bottom of my chair. “What are you doing?”
“Drinking coffee and talking to Harper,” I grit out in annoyance. He barely spares her a glance.
“Harper, this is—”
“Number thirty-four, Patrick Wallace aka ‘Loose Ends.’”
This piques his interest. “You the dancer girl?”
“Yep,” Harper says, popping the ‘p’ without looking up from her tablet. “That’s me. So,” she says, scrolling, “how much shit has he talked about me?”
“Little bit,” Pat replies with a smile. He’s a tank, twice my size and one of the best linebackers in the state. He looks like a hulked-up version of Opie—Sons of Anarchy, not Andy Griffith—as he glances between us trying to figure out what I’m up to. I’m unsure myself.
He lightly kicks the side of my chair again. “So, we going, or what?”
Sipping the last of my coffee, I stand. “Later, Priss.”
“Mr. Grinch,” she gives me a curt nod in dismissal, and I bark out a laugh before leaning down to whisper in her ear. She smells like vanilla and coffee.
“What color hat was I wearing?”
Her reply is instant. “Black.”
“I knew it.”
She scowls as I back away with a satisfied smile. “Busted.”
She shakes her head, heat evident on her cheeks as I join Pat at the door.