I turn back to Ricky, wringing my apron like it’s a dirty dishrag. “Not sure what you want, Ricky?” The pockfaced freshman looks up at the menu as if he doesn’t already have it memorized. He’s been coming here since fall semester started. At first, it was only once or twice a week. Now, I see him almost every shift.
“Hmm,” he grunts.
“You like the caramel macchiato,” I remind him. “Or white mocha with an extra pump of flavoring.”
A light pink seeps into his scrunched face as he avoids my gaze. “I, uh, I dunno. I’m undecided.”
“All right, let’s see.” Looking up at the menu, I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth in an attempt to appear unaffected by anyone who may or may not be on a date withsomeone in this very building. “The seasonal drinks are always yummy,” I offer. “Can’t go wrong with a pumpkin?—”
“You know what I really want?” he interrupts.
Ignoring the shame clogging my throat, I turn and face him again. “What’s that?”
His Adam’s apple wiggles in his throat like he’s swallowing a shard of glass. “Your, uh, your number.”
My eyes widen. My number? Is this boy for real?
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from asking if he’s serious. He’s cute, don’t get me wrong. Curly red hair. Freckles for days. He’s about my height, too, and I’m pretty sure I could beat him in an arm wrestle if push came to shove. I fight the urge to steal another peek at Jagger. Apparently, I like my boys with a sprinkling of asshole even if it makes me the stupidest person on the planet. And, unfortunately for both of us, it’s one thing my dear, sweet, Ricky doesn’t seem to have.
“So?” he pushes. “What do you say, Violet?”
Refusing to give Jagger another second of my time, I lean my elbows on the counter separating me from Ricky. “Ricky, I’m really flattered?—”
His eyes drop to the ground. “It’s okay. We can drop it.”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” I rush out. “I was just impressed, is all. Talk about some smooth talking, Ricky.” I force a smile. “Asking me for my number like that.”
The kid lights up like a Christmas tree. “Really?”
“Yeah, for sure!” I gush. “You are quite the catch, my friend.”
“Yeah?”
I reach out and smooth down his rumpled shirt. Why couldn’t I have fallen for a guy like him? “Mm-hmm. Unfortunately?—”
“Unfortunately, she’s taken,” someone growls from the front of the shop.
My head twists to the left, and my brows pinch as I register Jagger’s words. Taken? By who? Santa Claus?
“Excuse me?” I ask.
“I said, you’re taken.”
“You’re taken?” Ricky asks.
“Hey, it’s news to me as much as it is to you,” I reply, turning back to Jagger. “Since when?”
“Since the moment I had my fingers?—”
“Aaaand, I need to take my smoke break,” I announce, praying my face doesn’t betray me by turning into a freaking tomato.
“You smoke?” Ricky all but squeals.
“I do today.” Rounding the edge of the counter, I push Jagger into one of the furthest booths on the opposite side from where he and his little date were residing ten seconds ago and throw my hands up in the air. “What the hell?”
“What?”
“What do you mean, what?” I demand. “You can’t come into my work and say?—”
