Page 24
“That will be five dollars fifty,” Milo said flatly.
Rowan whipped out his card to pay, because he certainly didn’t have any cash left on him, and then he shuffled out of the way down to the collection point with his tail tucked between his legs.
He felt Milo’s glare on him the whole time, even as he was taking other orders. Rowan watched him work from the corner of his eye, still steaming mad and humiliated, but unable to help himself.
Milo was a whirl of endless energy and chatter. Kinetic energy in human form. The high of caffeine if it had a shape.
And while it looked like barely controlled chaos, he somehow made it work.
It was almost…impressive.
“Black coffee for Douchedragon?” the green-scaled worker called out.
Rowan scowled at his own brain for even daring to think such a thing when this was the person they were dealing with. Immature. Rude. Juvenile. Attractive.
Wait… No!
He begrudgingly walked up to the counter to take the drink, ignoring her barely concealed smirk. He turned around and beelined for the door, wanting nothing more than to forget this ever happened.
He was halfway to his car when Milo called out from behind him on the street.
“Hey, Douchedragon!”
Rowan ground his teeth together and walked faster.
Milo was apparently quicker though and he overtook him in a few seconds, cutting off his path. He looked bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in the early morning light.
Attractive, his brain whispered.
Rowan told it to go eat rocks.
“Why are you following me? Aren’t you working?” he demanded.
Milo shrugged. “I’m on my break.”
“The line is out the door.”
“It’s always out the door. We make good shit.” It was then Rowan realized he was holding a Stanley cup. He watched as Milo lifted it to take a sip. The liquid in the opaque straw was black.
Rowan squinted. “Is that coffee?”
“Is that a crime?” Milo asked, taking another sip. “You’re holding one in your hands.”
“In a normal-sized cup. Is that filled to the top?”
“Not all the way. Espresso is expensive, so I do about three quarters.” He took another long slug of it.
“Have you got an ambulance on standby? Or a replacement heart on ice?”
“There are three pacemakers at home. I think I’m good.”
The reminder dropkicked Rowan in the head. He was supposed to be leaving. “Well, enjoy your liquid heart attack.”
He tried to move around Milo, but he simply sidestepped in his way, still sipping. The problem was that yes, Rowan could barge past him with no trouble, but he didn’t think he could trust himself to touch.
His face flushed.
“What do you want?” he grumbled.
