“Yeah, this faux-innocent look isn’t fooling anyone. We’re here because you did it, didn’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Innocent sip.Not.
“You fucked our favorite barista, didn’t you?”
Sip.
“Allah… Which one? The cute one with the pink hair or Super Basic Guy?”
Sip.
“Parker.”
She sets down her matcha and delicately pats the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “You know that I’m pansexual. That I am both a basic bitch and someone who likes a little color in her life. As my friend, you should accept this.”
“Nooooo,” I moan. “We’ll never be able to get coffee there again. New rule: you can’t fuck our shared baristas.”
She sighs. “You’re probably right. At minimum, it was a mistake to fuck them together.”
“Par-kerrrr! Must you be a walking stereotype?”
She punches me in the shoulder. “Stop clutching your pearls. If it makes you feel any better, I do cuff my jeans, but I don’t enjoy iced coffee, and I have no problem choosing between multiple options,” she says, ticking off her favorite pan stereotypes. “To be fair, sometimes that choice is to mix options, but I’m very decisive about it.”
Picking up her matcha, she sips while I roll my eyes. She’s not wrong.
“Plus, there are new baristas all the time—we’ll be back in our favorite corner booth by New Year’s. Also?New rule: check your fucking bumper before you drive all over Austin with a ‘Your Dad Swallows’ sticker on it.”
I stand up quickly, nearly knocking over the small table. “Were you not going to tell me?”
Sip. “Oh, I was. When the time was right.”
Parker.
I race outside, and sure enough, there’s the bumper sticker in Day-Glo-orange.Ibnel balla’a.I carefully peel it off my spotless bumper and crush it in my hand as I make my way back into the shop.
I sit down with a huff and toss the crumpled-up sticker on the table, which makes her laugh uproariously.
Finally, she comes to the point of our meeting. “Now…tell me why I’m spending Saturday afternoon with you instead of my favorite kayak instructor.”
I point to the trash on the table. “Anders. Fucking. Bash.”
“Oh, god. What’d the sticker bandit do this time?”
“He brought in all of my plants.”
She smiles brightly and puts her hands to her cheeks. “Oh, because of the freeze this evening? That’s so sweet.”
God, not another romantic.
“Parker, he doesn’t have a key to my condo.”
“True. So, what’re you thinking?”
“I need to come up with a way to get back at him.”
“And you thought I would be the perfect person to ask?”
