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My jaw drops, threatening to slap against my keyboard.
"Oh, come on. Don't give me that face. Like you would've ever messaged them."
My lips purse. "You're right. I wouldn't have. Maybe because I never would've been on the site in the first place. Let me reiterate—I want to meet someone the old-fashioned way."
Her hand lands on her hip, signaling the onset of one of our customary bouts of wit. "Sure, sure. Keep spouting that nonsense. What about that guy who gave you his number while we were on shift last month?"
Oh, boy. Not this again...
I refrain from rolling my eyes, even though, deep down, I sense the tsunami of truth that's moments from crashing over me. Because I did receive a customer's phone number—a really attractive customer, too—on a napkin he slid across the counter before exiting The Caffeine Cove with a wink.
My latte flower was cute, the note read, but the barista who brewed it is even cuter. Call me, if you'd like to share another.
Maybe the whole pickup line on a napkin thing was a little silly. But it worked. I wanted to call him—and I almost did that same night. Had his number dialed and everything. Until those slimy, intrusive thoughts came rushing in, right on queue, and convinced me otherwise.
He only wants one thing from you, they said, like little devils on my shoulder with no angels to match. An attractive guy like him, with the way he made the first move so confidently? He's definitely had practice. And you have none.
I brushed their words off with a forced laugh. I have too much on my plate right now, anyway, I told them, before the napkin—and the potential of a new connection—was lost in my wastebasket.
Mei seizes my hesitation, using it to push her point further. Humming, she taps her chin. "Braxton was his name, yes? He was a bit older, but what's not to like when he was so easy on the eyes? And even better, a spur-of-the-moment meet-cute in a cozy coffee shop, with a sweet napkin icebreaker that's straight out of a Hallmark movie? Well, I couldn't conjure up a more old-fashioned scenario for you, unless I had the producers right here next to me."
My mouth opens on a retort... then snaps shut. Dammit. "Okay, I know when to admit defeat—but that doesn't mean I'm going on a date tonight."
"Oh, you're going." She rests an arm across the backside of her chair, wearing an expression that says her queen is already in checkmate. "Or else."
My eyes narrow. "Or else, what?"
"Or else I'm not covering any more shifts for you."
I audibly gasp. Now that's playing dirty.
And Mei knows it, too, because she quickly adds, "Not until you go on some sort of date. You don't have to bag the guy, but at least make an effort to advance your love life. Or give Braxton a call. One or the other."
I don't have the heart to tell her where his number ended up, but that doesn't simmer the annoyance splintering across my skin. "This is getting ridiculous. I don't have to—"
"What do you think you two are doing?" A hiss sounds behind me, the shrill voice raking up my spine. Mei's eyelids droop slightly, her face flatlining in the presence of our manager, Meghan, whose presence alone rolls in a dense smog, clouding the joy of those caught up in it. She stops two inches from our table, crossing her arms.
Even though I'm not doing anything wrong—I still have another ten minutes of my lunch break—my blood pressure spikes. I hate confrontation. Always have, always will.
With my gaze downcast, I watch her kitten heels tap impatiently. "I'm taking my lunch break," I mumble.
"Are you now? Well, I would've never guessed. To me, it looks like you're working on that stupid game again."
My eyes flicker from Mei, who's silently debating whether to throw hands, to our manager. Only two years our senior, Meghan really is an attractive girl—or would be—if it wasn't for the scowl permanently marking her lips.
Lifting my head, I hold her stare as my small act of defiance. A fire ignites within me, begging me to go on the offense for once. But it's unwise to pick a fight with my boss, so I hold my tongue. When in reality, it's just cowardness, a lack of guts. In my fuming silence, I anticipate her next round of insults. Something along the lines of you're only wasting your time, or who would play something so childish? Or, her personal favorite, you'll work here forever...
When I break her stare, she smirks. "People come here to enjoy a cup of coffee, Juliana. Not to watch some astro cat disaster." Snickering, she flicks her head toward Mei. "And is this where you're supposed to be? Your break isn't for another hour."
Mei surveys the room, her gaze wandering between the clusters of vacant chairs and barstools. "Sorry, Meghan," she murmurs, but her apology lacks any genuine remorse. "I was just—"
"No. I'll stop you right there. If you have time to chitchat, you have time to clean. Now get back to work." The second she twists on her short heels, Mei scowls, flipping her the bird until she disappears into the backroom—where she'll do short of nothing. Unfortunately, Meghan's laziness will never be reprimanded, not when her parents bought out the place and let her run it the way she sees fit. Must be nice.
Standing, Mei rolls her eyes. "You really want to spend more time with her?"
I nibble on my lower lip. Hell no.
"Fine. I'll go."
