He stills when he spots me, his face going pale.
“Hey,” I say because that’s what you say when you see people you know. You don’t just stand there gawking. You say hi. Even if they are your ex. Even if they do smell delicious from all the way over there. Even if they are every bit as beautiful as you remember.
“Booker. Hi. How are you?” He winces as the words leave his mouth, and an evil part of me wants to trauma dump all over him. It would serve him right for asking such an asinine question.
“I’ve been better,” I say honestly.
“I… Look, I have to go. I need to get to class. But it was good to see you. Take care, ok?”
Wow. I’ve only had the one boyfriend, the one breakup. My split with Lexi doesn’t count because it was so mutual. But just now, in one sentence, Ian has managed to string together everybreakup cliché. I may deserve a cookie after all.
Instead, I exit the coffee shop and make my way to the library, ignoring the fact that Ian’s twenty feet ahead of me. And isn’t that just fitting? We’re in the same place, but totally out of sync.
* * *
This week sucks,completely and utterly. I want to crawl into my bed and not come out until I wake up from this nightmare. My parents aren’t speaking to me, but that’s just as well. What sucks is that my dad has forbidden the girls from talking to me too. That hasn’t stopped them, of course, but it does make things trickier.
Coach King is looking into my prospects, but I haven’t heard any news yet. The boys are hovering around me like a bunch of old ladies, worried about me and my broken heart. Ian is studiously avoiding me, which sucks the most.
But I can’t worry about any of that now. I have a job to do. Ian’s job, that is.
Willa mentioned that Ian’s been working crazy hours lately, since one of the new hires quit. So what did I do? I interviewed for the job.
It’s with a stroke of genius or the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.
I stand up from the table I’ve been occupying since 6 a.m. and hand the iPad back to Delilah. “All done. And I passed.”
“Of course, you did. Let’s get you behind the bar, Booker. Grab an apron and refill your tea if you need to. It’s about to get busy in here.”
“Busier than the mad rush an hour ago?”
“Yeah, that was mostly professors and freaks who take eight o’clocks,” she smiles. “The midday folks are going to be coming in about twenty, so let me show you the ropes, ok?”
“Sounds good,” I answer, tying my apron on and checking the clock.
“He’ll be here any minute,” she tells me. “He’s always at least fifteen minutes early. You sure you want to do this?”
“No doubt,” I answer. Ian’s stressed and overworked. I’ve seen it written all over his face the few times we’ve interacted lately. And he’s got finals coming up. He’s responsible for more grading than I can even fathom. Plus, since I was pulled from Psych of Sex, my class load is pretty light, and I’ve had nothing else to do, so I’m caught up and ready for my tests next week.
Just as Delilah’s showing me where we store the ceramic mugs, the bell above the door jingles and I know Ian’s here. I can feel it the moment he spots me, sporting an apron and standing behind the counter.
“What the hell is going on? Booker, you can’t be back here. And how did you get an apron?”
I shrug. “I’m covering your shift so you can catch up on grading or sleep or whatever you need most.”
“You can’t do that,” he insists.
“I can, though,” I say, holding up a pitcher of unnaturally pink tea. “See?”
“You are not allowed to be back here. You’re not an employee, and if Dave found you, we’d be in big trouble.”
“Dave? That’s the guy who interviewed me yesterday. He seemed pretty cool. And I am allowed to be back here. I just sat through a five-hour training session. And Delilah deputized me.”
“That’s not what it’s called. I signed your barista-in-training paperwork,” she supplies.
“But that’s basically the same thing. Except I don’t get a shiny badge.”
“You do get a visor, though,” she tells me, slipping into the tiny back room and reappearing with the rest of my uniform.
