One
January
“Well, you’d be mad if your man had another woman’s vagina on the back of his neck too, let’s just be honest here.”
“Well, when you put it like that…” Riley’s loud giggles carried through the earbuds I’d carefully tucked under my earmuffs. “I guess it makes a little more sense.”
I closed my eyes and took another sip from the steaming cup in my hands, even though I knew better. It was just so, so good. I’d recognize the creamy sweetness of real dairy being used to balance the sharp warmth of coffee anytime, anywhere.
Gratifying, wonderful, forbidden dairy.
“A little? Bye. You know you’d be somewhere ready to end it all if that little chef you like pops up on The Gram in the pool with some chick on his shoulders. With her pussy on his neck,” I added, louder than intended, earning myself a stern look from several people passing by. I’d stopped walking when I realized that what was in my cup didn’t match what I’d ordered.
They probably thought I was crazy.
Ah well.
I told myself the lie that another sip from the cup wouldn’t hurt, then turned around to go back to the coffee shop before my lack of impulse control put me in an unpleasant situation.
“Oh see, that’s just cruel,” Riley whined, and I grinned. “Why would you even put that thought in my head? You know that no-cooking, bad-wigged, country-lisping bitch from the Savor network has been sniffing around him, right?”
I laughed. “Um, first, why she gotta be a bitch, Riley? That’s mad aggressive, you don’t know her. Second–girl, no, I don’t know that, because nobody but you is keeping up with who is screwing who on Savor.”
“Um, I do know her, and so do you! Remember Julie, from College Algebra?”
I frowned, ready to tell her hell no, I don’t remember College Algebra, period, but then something clicked in my brain, and my eyes went wide. “The chick with the ashy lips?”
“Bingo. Desert Mouth, who set fire to the home econ lab boiling water for pasta. That’s who’s all on Savor. All over Jacob Willis. Bitch stole my life.”
“Okay wow, so, I wanna take this moment to point out that you’re ready to slice and dice Julie from Algebra over a man you’ve never seen in person, and yet you called me to judge Kelly for being mad that Taj had another woman’s clit on his hairline. Just saying.”
Riley sucked her teeth. “Taj has been a fuckboy for five years. Jacob Willis is the love of my life. Have you seen him?”
Of course I’d seen him–Riley sent our group text a daily update on everything the man did on social media.
“I have seen him, which is why I’m quite confident that somewhere in the world, there are between two and seven women–or men - calling Jacob Willis a fuckboy to their friends.”
With my free hand, I pushed my bag back up on my shoulder, then used that same hand to tighten the thick scarf around my neck as I squinted against the bracing cold. Frigid weather had made its way to the Heights way sooner than I wanted it to.
“Lies you tell,” Riley droned, and I could almost see her shaking her head. “My caramel king is an upstanding citizen bitch, you’d better get familiar.”
“Caramel king–Riley, you have a whole boyfriend, remember? An actual, fine ass boyfriend…”
“Oh yeah,” she said, as if she really had forgotten. “My felon bae. He’s secure enough in himself to share me, I’m sure!”
I giggled. “You’re losing it, Riley. I gotta go,” I said, as I approached the last crosswalk before I made it to Urban Grind. I got off the phone with Riley and took another ill-advised sip, just to warm myself before I crossed the street to get the drink replaced.
They were busy when I went in, and… stuff happens. I wasn’t mad, but I needed what I ordered–an oat milk chai with one pump of chocolate and two pumps of espresso. Not coffee, but enough caffeine to keep me awake enough to be worth a damn for tonight’s study session.
Ugh.
I was so tired of school.
Especially when I didn’t even need to go–I already had a damn degree, and a great job to boot. Well… not great yet, but as soon as I took these certifications, it would be.
I’d already dropped my second job as a lab tech, in favor of focusing on my additional studies and not burning myself out. That advice had come from my long-distance mentor, Devon Wright, whose career was nearly a direct mirror of what I wanted for my own.
If I could go from nurse to nurse practitioner at Blackwood General, with the extra certifications like Devon… just the thought of it brought out a happy ass sigh.
But before that, I had lots to do, and because I had lots to do, of course something had to go wrong. My phone buzzed, and I dug into the pocket of my coat and pulled it out, shaking my head when I saw that I had a new text from Riley–a screenshot of Jacob Willis, some celebrity chef she was obsessed with, so obviously he was a total douchebag.
What happened next–the something that had to go wrong–was definitely my fault.
I was so busy trying to type a message back to Riley that I wasn’t paying nearly enough attention for the busy street I was on. So little attention that I walked right into someone, and steaming hot liquid went spilling everywhere.
“Oh, shit!” I yelped, quickly realizing that the cup in my hand was still intact. I quickly deposited it in the trash can by Urban Grind’s front door, tucked my phone back into my pocket, then dug into my bag for the folded paper towels I always kept.
“I just got this damn drink corrected,” my victim mused, more to himself than me, head bowed as creamy brown liquid dripped down the front of his beautiful olive-on-forest green houndstooth coat.
“I’m so sorry,” I insisted, hurriedly trying to dab the coffee away. “I hope it doesn’t stain. Maybe if you take it to the dry cleaners. You can send me the bill,” I babbled away, as I tried my best. I moved my semi-saturated paper towel up the front of his coat, and then suddenly realized he hadn’t said anything else.
I looked up into a smile that was so potent it made my nose bleed.
Oh.
Wait.
No.
That was snot.
Apparently, my nose had chosen that exact moment to start running, because I was cold, but the man standing in front of me was ridiculously hot.
Even with a navy newsboy hat pulled low on his head, casting a bit of a shadow on his face, he was fucking fine. Smooth, pecan toned skin, hooded brown eyes, megawatt smile, and–how dare he!?–dimples.
Dimples did things to me, in places.
“Don’t sweat it, beautiful,” he said, in a voice that warmed me a helluva lot more than that coffee did. He grabbed my wrist, taking the paper towel from my hand and using a clean spot to dab my nose.
Like I was a toddler.
And he was my daddy.
“Blow,” he said, so I did, because good girls did what daddy said, and his face bloomed into a cross of amusement and disgust. “So, I was joking about that,” he laughed, and I froze, completely embarrassed as he at least followed through, curving the tissue around my nose to wipe before he threw it away, then stared down at his hands.
Holy shit, what is happening right now?!