Ben orders a ristretto and leans back, letting out a long breath, his shoulders visibly relaxing.
He makes the shift sounds effortless but I've seen him in the grind, the pressure absolutely insane, and I'm sure it gets to him.
When the tiny cup lands in front of him, he picks it up with thumb and forefinger.
I wrinkle my nose. "Why are you still drinking that? It smells like liquid cigarettes."
He props his arms behind his head, and nods his chin at the remnants in my mug. "Better than whatever you've got."
"True," Mara pipes up. "Decaf's worse than a placebo."
I shoot her an unimpressed look—the freaking traitor she is.
It earns a raised brow from Ben. "You're still off caffeine?"
"Yeah." Said like it has nothing to do with him, with his words, and how I still cling to them.
But of course he goes there, smug as ever.
"Damn. Didn't know I had that kind of influence on you."
"No, you don't," I lie, smiling anyway. "It's called white coat authority. People believe doctors."
"Now you're making me feel like a hypocrite. Three—no, four coffees a shift, easy."
I blink at him. "You're kidding. Practice what I preach?"
He meets my eyes. "I'm more of a do-as-I-say kind of guy."
The way he says it with an innuendo hiding in there makes me pause. I know his voice too well, every inflection, every slight drag on a word when he's baiting me.
But hell no, I'm not jumping on it.
"Good for you," I say evenly. "You've always been a walking contradiction. Doesn't surprise me."
He just shrugs, face tipped up toward the sun, enjoying his little siesta no matter what.
"Everyone's a contradiction. Even you," he says, like it's an indisputable fact.
"Oh yeah? And how's that?"
"You're like a sparrow that bites." He flashes his teeth, biting into nothing.
I laugh, a little off-kilter. "Okay, poetic. In your usual, disorienting way. Why bites though?"
"Bites," he says, the implication way darker this time as he cuts his eyes to me. "Leaves a mark."
I shoot him a look back. But what is it good for?
My stupid heart flips a little, and it wants to complain he's left plenty of marks on it too, so he should stay quiet.
Mara's voice chimes in: "Contradictions are good. Look at you too. Opposites clearly attract."
Freshly revived friendship or not, she earns my driest glare.
When we used to hang out together, she used to do this all the time—call us an old couple in denial.
I see Ben's brow raise with a silent question, maybe even gearing to scold her, but I cut in: "Sure. They do. Doesn't mean they're actually good for each other."
