‘Oliver,’ I reply, wad of paper scrunched up in my fist.
‘Is this a bad time?’
Amusement plays on his beautiful lips, but it’s a struggle to reciprocate.
‘Broken pen.’
I hold up the offending article, the deep blue tint of my skin all the more obvious under the low-hanging coffee shop lights. Oliver sucks the air in through his teeth and winces.
‘That happened to me in the middle of an exam last year. Only, I’d brought a red pen for underlining the text. It looked like I’d tried to sacrifice a goat to get a better grade.’
The tightness in my chest eases slightly with his easy grin. It’s just a leaky pen.
‘Do you want anything?’ He cocks his head back towards the counter. ‘Coffee? Tea?’
‘No, thanks, I’m good.’
I point at my mocha with one cerulean finger and the corners of his mouth slant upwards again as he saunters across the room, comfortably slipping around furniture like he’s moving around his own home.
‘Yo, Meyers.’
Ethan bounds over, an iced coffee in one hand, a pastry bag in the other.
‘What the hell, my dude,’ he says, cheerfully pointing at my hand with the pastry bag. ‘Been jerking off a Smurf?’
‘Yes,’ I reply smoothly. ‘He told me he loved me.’
When he throws his head back with laughter, I can’t help but smirk a little, but now isn’t the time for roommate bonding. Something he clearly doesn’t realize as he slumps comfortably onto the arm of the chair beside me.
‘Today was a crazy day. Practice, lectures, seminars.’
He starts talking without asking if it’s okay to stay and I hold my breath as Oliver approaches the front of the line to put in his order.
‘This school does not let up. How’d your second day go?’
‘Um, this isn’t a great time,’ I tell him, still watching Oliver, hands in his back pockets as he studies the menu. ‘I’m meeting someone.’
‘Ohhhh.’ Ethan grins and raises his coffee in my direction. ‘Hot date? You’re a fast worker, I’m impressed.’
‘It’s not like that,’ I say but isn’t it? Or at least, isn’t that what I wish it was?
‘Nah, no need to explain.’ He stands gracefully, strong legs lifting him upright in one smooth move. ‘The heart wants what the heart wants, baby. Just hope Papa Smurf doesn’t get jealous.’
He gives me a wink and I’m surprised when I laugh, shaking my head when he strolls over to an empty armchair and takes a seat to annihilate the rest of his pastry. Over at the counter, I watch Oliver make small talk with the girl taking orders, tensing up as they chat. I straighten the neckline of my shirt underneath my cardigan, then take the cardigan off, before putting it straight back on. It’s not warm in here, I don’t need to spend the nexthour worrying about gooseflesh or whether or not the lining of my bra is succeeding at its one job. He moves along the line and picks up a steaming hot mug, bypassing the creamer and sugar station, and making a beeline straight back to me.
‘Never used to be much of a coffee drinker,’ he says, setting the mug on the table before pulling the strap of a beat-up messenger bag over his shoulder and dropping it on the floor. ‘Grew up on tea. But ever since I got to uni, I haven’t been able to survive without it.’
‘I started way too young,’ I reply as he removes the leather blazer I’d had draped around my shoulders the night before, and runs a hand through his hair. Be still my beating heart. Or at least slow down so I can pick up my mocha without spilling it all over myself. ‘Mom used to say too much caffeine would stunt my growth but if that’s true, explain why it’s so hard to find jeans with a long enough inside leg?’
He chuckles and I try to pretend I didn’t just say inside leg to the potential love of my life as he finally considers his seating options. The open seat next to me on the sofa or the empty chair. When he takes the chair, the rollercoaster inside my stomach pitches straight down.
‘Had to wean myself off the sweet stuff.’ He nods at my drink, the whipped cream on top deflating almost as quickly as I am. ‘Caffeine addiction is one thing but I was this close to losing all my teeth. Black coffee only for me.’
‘So Hemingway of you,’ I tease.
‘I don’t think Ern would be my biggest fan,’ he returns with a wry smile. ‘I’ve never shot a gun and if I ever came face to face with a lion, I’d be dead within three minutes.’
‘Maybe more of an L. Frank Baum then. Supposedly he dranka ton of coffee when he was writing the Oz books. Said he liked it strong enough to float a spoon.’
