“He seriously pulled back from kissing you? Is he an idiot?” Quinn bursts out, eyes wide, hands flailing as if the answer should be obvious.
I sigh, turning to her. Quinn's expression is pure indignation, a mix of confusion and barely contained fury. “I think I’m the idiot, honestly. At least I know he doesn't see me that way.” I shrug, sinking into the chair with a heavy exhale, trying to make my heartache seem smaller.
Quinn scoffs, snatching up her Kindle and waving it like a flag. “Nuh huh, babe. He so likes you. Who wouldn't? You're banging, for crying out loud, and this just proves that men are idiots—no matter the age. I've read this a thousand times in books. They try to play the good guy, especially after the girl they like has been through a shit time.”
I frown.
“And you are someone who is going through some shit,” she continues, pacing a little. “He thinks backing off is the right thing? Wrong. Totally and completely wrong. It's classic men's moral bullshit. What he should be doing is bending you over thekitchen table and fucking you till you can’t remember your own name.”
Her words die before she can carry on with her rambling as a sharp clearing of a throat cuts through the air. Quinn turns, and I stand in unison to see a customer standing near us, eyebrows raised, lips pursed, tapping her fingers impatiently against the glass.
Not gonna lie, that makes me twitch as I just cleaned them half an hour ago.
The filthy look she's giving us says more than words ever could.
Quinn looks her up and down slowly, clearly irritated at being interrupted. “Do you mind? I’m in the middle of a very important conversation, and you very obviously want to order one of those over-complicated, half-oat-milk, half-whatever with extra foam and a shot of coffee I have no energy to make.”
I immediately bury my face in my hands with a groan.
The woman huffs and storms off without a word.
“Anyway,” Quinn says brightly, as if nothing happened. “Where was I?”
I look up at her, deadpan. “You would not have a job if your aunts didn't own this cafe.”
She grins, completely unbothered.
Yesterday, I genuinely thought she owned the place. Turns out it's her aunts—they raised her. I can't wait to meet them, in all honesty, just to see where Quinn gets her sparkling, crazy personality from.
“You wouldn't have a job either, so be thankful. Now shush, I don't like it when you're sad, so we need to make him jealous.”
Before I can protest, she grabs my hands and yanks me upright, spinning me once for dramatic effect.
“I have the perfect dress for you,” she declares. “We go out tonight, have a good time, get you a guy to flirt with—or youcould just let me have another go. I didn't exactly get to enjoy these properly last time,” she squeezes my boobs, and I yelp, smacking her hands away.
“Quinn,” I scold, though the smile betrays me.
“I would say I’m sorry,” she grins unapologetically, “but I’m really not. Come out with me. Make it known you're going out and where. He’ll get all jealous and growly, come find you, and storm over like a caveman, throwing you over his shoulder and dragging you outside to spank you for being a naughty girl.”
“Absolutely not,” I cut in. “You read way too many romance books. You do realise none of that is real, right?”
She gasps, clutching her chest like I've committed a crime. “Excuse you. You should be thanking those books for the Olympic-level tongue work I performed that night. How else do you think I managed to make you cum three times?”
A loud throat clears beside us, again.
Heat rushes to my cheeks as I turn to see an older man this time—bushy eyebrows, curled moustache, pointed nose, and looking deeply offended by existence itself.
Quin seriously needs a no-filter warning label.
“Don't look at me like that, Ratatouille.” Quinn squints at him. “Those caterpillars on your face are making her uncomfortable.”
I clap a hand over her mouth. “Please ignore her; your eyebrows are great, not slug-like at all,” I say quickly. “Can I get you anything?”
The man sneers, spits on the floor, and storms out, aggressively rubbing at his eyebrows.
My eyes widen. He actually spat on the floor. I genuinely thought Quinn had been exaggerating when she told me people did that here. Well, I think I've seen everything now.
She licks my palm, and I squeal, wiping my hand frantically on my jeans.
