I nod. Follow him into it.
Snacks. From the organic version of the classic plain potato chip to the chickpea puff to the chip with actual chicken in it.
Don't these people know they can buy chickpea and lentil chips at the place in Culver City for half the price?
"You eat enough?" He motions to a bag of garlic and rosemary potato chips.
"Yeah." I scan the rows, looking for a distraction. A novelty. Something. There are some unusual flavors here. Dill pickle, Moscow Mule, Korean Barbeque. All on potato chips.
But they have these everywhere. Even at Safeway.
It's the chips made out of chickpeas where things get weird.
But I don't want salty snacks. I don't want any snacks. But if I have to have snacks—
I move to the next aisle. Nuts. Expensive, organic ones. Slightly less expensive roasted versions. Flavored.
Chocolate covered almonds.
No. This chocolate is plenty. I'm not even hungry. And—"Our coffee is probably ready."
"You keep looking at food. You hungry?"
"No. I just… want something to look at."
"I'm sorry."
"Huh?"
His fingers skim my shoulder. Then his palm rests on it. He turns me so we're face-to-face. "I'm sorry about your parents. I'm sorry they're divorcing. I'm sorry they're lying to you. I know how it sucks."
"Thanks. I'm sorry about yours too."
His expression gets sheepish. "Thanks. Yeah. That was hell. But it's over. And now—"
"You get to have fucked-up relationships with both of them separately."
He just barely chuckles. "Basically."
"Do you see your mom much?"
"Birthdays and holidays."
"When was the last time?"
"I called her on Daisy's birthday. To make sure she called, left a message, made Daisy feel loved."
"Really?"
"Yeah." That same sheepish expression. "Don't give me that look."
"What look?"
"I don't know. But I don't like it. We're talking about your shit."
"I thought we were getting coffee."
He makes that hmmm noise.
"What?"
"It's not like you. To avoid things."
"Thanks, Dr. Phil."
"If I'm going to be a TV host, I'm Oprah."
I raise a brow.
"She's the voice of America."
A laugh escapes my lips. It's true, I guess. "Okay. You can be Oprah. Thanks, Oprah."
"She doesn't really give advice."
"Just sits there and lets other people talk."
"You could learn a lot from her," he says.
"Oh my god." I go to play hit him.
He grabs my wrist.
It's equal parts hard and soft.
And entirely I'm going to pin you to the wall and have my way with you.
I swallow hard.
He stares into my eyes.
For a second, I consider going for it, kissing him, asking him to take me home, touch me, fuck me, do whatever it takes to make me forget.
To make me feel good.
But that's…
I can't.
I really can't.
"You're sweeter than you act." My voice is a struggle. "With Daisy." There. That's it. I need to remind myself why this can't happen. And him.
Daisy.
My best friend.
My favorite person in the world.
His sister.
His favorite person in the world.
"She hasn't totally given up on Mom." He releases me.
"You have?"
"I don't know." He takes a step backward. "I used to think my dad was crazy. Over-reacting. But now… I don't know. She is trying."
"It's hard."
He nods yeah.
Neither of us expands on it. So many things are hard. Dealing with parents, fighting addiction, standing here without jumping into his arms.
His mom—
There's something there, something I want to know. But there's something about his posture too. I shouldn't press it.
He motions to a box of chocolate-covered almonds. "You sure you aren't hungry?"
"Isn't that what the chocolate is for?"
He half-smiles. "True." He motions to the corner. The direction of the coffee bar. "Why don't you get a seat on the patio. I'll get these."
"Oh. Sure. Yeah."
"Should be a few minutes."
"Grab a water too maybe."
He nods yeah. Watches me move around the corner. Toward the door.
It's a perfectly reasonable idea. Divide and conquer.
Is that all?
Or does he need a reprieve? A chance to collect himself? And talk himself out of doing something very, very stupid.
And very, very wrong.
And very, very right.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Luna
I stop by the bathrooms. Pee, wash my hands, fix my lipstick. The pinkish red. The one that makes him tease.
It's totally ridiculous. What woman has ever thought gee, I better find a shade that makes me look like I love sucking cock?
Okay, I'm sure it's happened. It's probably the number one question on porn set makeup artists' minds. What red says ram me hard and come on my face?
Do guys actually want that?
Does Oliver?
I'm sure he watches porn. He's a guy. Most do.
Most women do too. I watch the occasional video, but most of it is too over the top, too violent, too much.
My imagination is plenty active.
When I close my eyes, I see him behind me. Wrapping his arms around my waist. Tugging at the zipper of my jumpsuit. Whispering in my ears. I want the entire store to hear you come.
Fuck.
Nope.
Not going there.
Going outside. To sit. And drink coffee. And not think about my parents lying to me.
Or about Oliver.
I really need less on the don't think about this list.
I take a deep breath, move around the corner, outside, to the patio area.
It's quiet but crowded. A mom and a girl in a stroller. Three people in laid-back attire, talking business. A couple sharing a scoop of ice cream from the place with a pale yellow food truck.
They're pretty good. Not too sweet. With a to die for coffee ice cream.
But coffee is a lot like chocolate. Best in its purest state.
I find a seat. A small table with a two-person bench. No room for restraint.
What good is restraint, really?
Wouldn't it be better if I told restraint to fuck off? If I climbed into Oliver's lap, hooked my arms around his neck, pressed my lips to his?
Does he taste like the toothpaste in his bathroom?
Like chocolate and coffee?
Is he already sipping the French press?
Fuck. I pull out my cell. Look for a pleasant distraction. Find only a call me when you're ready to talk from Divya.
Ugh, no.
Forget it.
I lean back—the bench is just off the wall—close my eyes, soak in the weather. It really is nice, just warm enough, just breezy enough, just bright enough the sun feels good on my skin.
Oliver turns the corner. I can recognize his steady footsteps without opening my eyes. Then the smell of his shampoo.