It stops now. Today. This very second. I must have been out of my mind to allow him to control me like that.
With a mental check, I pull up my big-girl panties and adjust my crown to remind myself that I am a golden goddess of my own fate. Or some such bullshit. Okay, I’m more like a tarnished troll because nothing says female empowerment like marching down Main Street looking like a hot mess in pink terrycloth shorts and a stained white tank top.
Let’s not forget how I have my waist-length brown hair in a messy bun.
Watch out, Mayhem, I’m back in full force.
Hear me roar.
Kerri is a spring breeze in a floral Dolce & Gabbana sundress as we sweep into Black Bean. Her hair is tidy, hanging down her back in a low ponytail. The café is busy, and people openly gawk at us when we enter. Pardon me. They ogle Kerri. It happens everywhere we go. She hates the attention, but she’s tall and majestic, and folks can’t help but stare.
My friend bows her head and tries to make herself small, which infuriates me. She’s gorgeous, and she needs to own her awesomeness. “What are you getting?”
“A misdemeanor charge accompanied by two years in prison if you don’t square those shoulders and raise your fucking chin.”
Her sheepish grin kills me. “Was I doing it again?”
“Yes, ma’am, you sure were.”
She straightens her spine and steps up to the counter. I’m all sorts of proud when she uses her outside voice to give the cute cashier her order of aniced cappuccino and the pasta salad, please.
I’d give up my right arm to indulge in a huge bowl of carbs without the worry that comes with it, but that’s not going to happen. So, when it’s my turn to order, I flash the cashier a smile. “Hey there, handsome. A bottle of water and a grilled chicken wrap, please.”
“Sure thing, beautiful,” he says. I’m a sucker for green eyes. Or maybe it’s the single dimple denting his right cheek. And don’t get me started on his artfully tousled blonde hair. Sure, he’s a bit too pretty for my taste, but I can work with him. “Anything else?”
You, on a plate.
“No, that’s it for now. Thank you. I’m paying for my friend’s order, too.” I pin Kerri with a glare. “Don’t start. It’s my turn.”
We have a thing, she and I. To keep our friendship fair, we take turns paying for food. She footed the bill last time. I’m anteing up for this lunch.
Kerri puts her hands up. “Not a word from me.”
I slide off my backpack, rest it on the counter, and push aside my insulin and glucose kits and all the other shit I have crammed in here. When I grab my wallet, my keys fall out. He picks them up, and as he hands them to me, his brows shoot up when he notices my keychain.
“What year?”
My dad was into cars. He passed that love to me. I also have a thing for horror movies and comic books. Specifically,Blade. Once I realized I could make a decent living as a graphic designer, I splurged and bought myself a Dodge Charger. I have the keychain to prove it.
“1968.”
“That’s my new favorite car.”
“And you’re my new favorite barista.” I fish out my wallet, pull out my debit card, and hand it to him. His fingers brush over my hand. Twice. Bold move. And he does it again when he hands me the change.
“I’m Matthew.” His voice is soft. There is an appreciation in his eyes as his gaze drifts over me.
I extend my hand. “Faith.”
His hand is a bit too smooth. But again, I can totally work with him. Rough him up a little. “You’re new.”
“Actually, I’m not.” I rotate my finger in the air. “I’ve just been away from home for a few years.”
“In that case, welcome back, Faith.” He really has a nice smile. Wholesome, which is striking in a town known for its debauchery. “I hope to see you around.”
“You will, Matthew.”
Suddenly I feel the need to buy my coffee rather than brew it at home.
