I will forever feel late, even when I’m ten minutes early as I am today when I reach the Queer Palace Café. It’s almost eleven, and regardless of the day, lunchtime is always busy.
“Hey,” Celeste greets as I step behind the counter and grab my apron off the hook. “You still have ten minutes.”
“The line is almost to the door,” I point out.
“Something that everyone expects when they walk in on a weekday. They can wait.”
I stare at her as I use my tag to punch in. “I’m within the window.”
“Leave him alone, Celly,” Mikah says. “I need a break from drinks, anyway. You’re up, D-Man.” He claps me on the shoulder, and I step up to the drink line to look at the long tail of orders pumping out of the printer.
There’s something Zen about working drinks. I’m in my zone as I create one masterpiece after another.
Hairy Fairy. A little sparkle pizzazz on top of the whip. Straw. I pull the receipt and set it on the counter. “Michael,” I call and return to my spot.
I get the next few orders going—a Purple Monster, Closet Buster, and a Roast Coco Bow. That’s a weird one that’s gained a lot of popularity this spring. I think it’s the toasted coconut flavor that everyone loves. I keep the three cups separate as I mix and shake, pouring each component when it’s ready.
Covers on and to the counter. I set each one on their receipt and call their names. “Amanda. Jasper. Roux. Drinks up.”
It’s monotonous and yet varied enough between drinks that I can get lost in the rhythm. Minutes might go by. Hours. I remain in a bubble of drinks, letting my mind drift to literally anything else.
Like the fact that I just spent $400 on purchasing a date with Peyton Brady. My parents will surely understand that it was an emergency purchase, right? It’ll explain away the fact that I used the emergency credit card.
I could tell them I didn’t have a choice. I’m not brave enough to outright ask him out. Even though I see him almost every day when I work at the Queer Palace Café, and I think he even flirts with me. Like all the time.
Still, I don’t have big enough balls to just say, ‘Hey, you’re cute. Can we go out sometime?’
There are always dozens of people around. Not a chance in hell I’m going to try that.
“Hey, hot stuff.”
My heart nearly slams out of my chest at his voice, and I raise my eyes to meet Peyton’s. I’m not sure I can count that as flirting. He once ordered a hot drink, and when our fingers touched, he noted how hot mine were.
But it’s certainly an innuendo. So that counts. I think.
“Hey, footballer,” I greet in return, flashing him a smile without losing a beat.
God, his smile is dazzling. And those dimples! Fuck my life.
“You move into the café? Have a bed out back?” he asks.
“I push the tables in the corner together and cover myself with trays for warmth,” I return. “You should try it sometime. Super comfortable.” I take the three drinks to the counter and read off the receipts. “Torey, Jessica, Rico. Drinks up.”
That was as close to ‘You should join me sometime’ as I’m brave enough to say. At least with so many people around. I’m not entirely sure he’s actually flirting with me. What if he’s not and becomes horrified by something I say?
Nope. I wouldn’t survive the humiliation.
Peyton stays in front of me as he usually does while I mix drinks. I love it. I love how, out of everyone in the busy café, he chooses to talk to me while he waits for his order.
Today, I’m waiting for something very specific, though. I’m waiting for an indication that he knows it was me who won his auction date. I study him as much as I’m able to while creating drinks. I weigh every word he says. When he gets to weekend plans, I think that maybe he does know and yet…
“You working over the long weekend?” Peyton asks.
I lick my lips as I stare at his handsome face. “Nope,” I say, shaking my head. “Took all four days off.”
He grins. “Cool, man. You work a lot. Have any plans?”
That! That right there… is that a hint that he knows? I’ve never taken Peyton as subtle, so I think if he knew it was me, he’d say something.
