"Good," I said. "I guess that means you didn't have any time for girlfriends in California."
"No, I didn't," he replied.
He ducked and brought his mouth near mine—so close that I thought he was going to kiss me. But he didn't. He hesitated, enjoying almost-kissing me.
"Are we going to get caught in here?" I whispered, wanting so badly to kiss him but feeling nervous and giddy.
"You know it wouldn't matter if we did," he said. "It's one of the perks of owning the place. I can't get in trouble."
"Even for this?" I asked.
"Even for this." He paused, and I thought he was about to do it, but he said my name instead. "Olivia."
"Yes?"
"I feel impatient." He was speaking softly, sweetly, his lips next to mine.
"You don't seem impatient," I said.
"I am though. I want you next to me every second. Is that too much to ask?"
He ducked and kissed me, a quick, soft, sticky kiss that had me stretching up, pressing myself toward him. We kissed again, several times, and an electric pulse stabbed through my lower abdomen at the feel of his lips. He pulled back enough to break contact but he left his face right next to mine.
"Can we just be together?" he asked. "Where we don't have to hide it or go slow?"
He waited for my answer, and what else was I supposed to say but, "Yes."
"Are you my girl now?" he asked. "Can I just have you from now on?"
"Yes," I said, without even making him define exactly what he meant by that.
He situated his arms again, pulling me closer and making himself comfortable. He was wearing a contented smile that made me squeeze him.
"I'm sorry you were jealous," he said.
"I told you to go," I returned.
"That was the last one," he said. "Unless it's with you. Nothing happened with me and Elle, it's just, it didn't feel right being anyone else's date."
"It didn't feel right to me either," I said. "I wasn't mad, but I wished I saw you in that tux and not her."
"You wanna see me in a tux?" he asked.
"Yes."
"It's in my bag. But it's all wrinkled. You'll probably have to wait until it's back from the cleaners."
"Do you have your own tux? You didn't just rent one?"
"No. I have one."
"Where are your bags?"
"Adrian took them to my apartment after he dropped me off here."
"So, you don't have a driver?"
"No. I was planning on going with you to your place."
"Good," I said. "I can draw you laying on my couch."
"That sounds like a magical evening." He kissed me. "Do you have food? Because if not, I'm grabbing a sandwich before we leave here."
"Food from here is definitely better than anything I have at my apartment," I said. "But it's whatever you're in the mood for. We can get something here or stop on the way home."
We were all cozy in each other's arms and discussing dinner options when the door opened. Brandon was suddenly standing in the doorway, stunned, gawking at us with wide eyes. I could tell catching us like that was the furthest thing from his mind, and he had to stand there and compute what he was seeing.
"There was… someone was asking for… a, uh… the thing you use to apply for a job—an application… yes… someone was… I, you know what, I can, uh, come back another time—"
I tried to step out of Eric's grasp, put he held me there. It didn't take much effort because I wasn't really trying to leave. I needed the comfort and reassurance of his arms while Brandon was standing there staring at us like that.
"Just come in and get it. You're not bothering us," Eric said, calmly.
Brandon stepped inside and began digging in a drawer, trying not to look at us. "I'll be in and out," he said.
We had untangled a little bit, but Eric's arms were still casually resting on me.
"Brandon, Olivia and I are seeing each other, now," Eric said.
Brandon nodded and Eric kept speaking.
"I don't know if she'll continue working here or not. She's going to do some advertising for us. It's up to her if she still wants to work up front. Just know that she's with me. I'll let Belinda know, too, but Olivia's got an open tab."
"Yes, of course," Brandon said, bowing a little at us. "And a lovely choice," he said, his voice shaking a little. "Olivia's great," he added, clarifying.
"I know, and thank you," Eric said.
"Thank you," Brandon said, still nervous. He held the job application in his hand and he waved at us with it before turning to walk out. It was surreal, standing next to Eric and seeing how people looked at him. He really was the boss around here.
"Are you two ordering anything from the kitchen?" Brandon asked, glancing over his shoulder.
"Yeah, actually, we'll take a couple of sandwiches to go. We'll stop by the kitchen on our way out."
"Can I get something started for you?"
Eric looked at me as if telling me to make the call, and I shook my head almost imperceptibly.
"We can do it," I said.
"We can do it," Eric said, repeating my words as he shifted to look at Brandon.
He gave us a smile and nod before turning to walk away.
Chapter 18
A month later
I got closer and closer to Eric as the weeks passed. He was my boyfriend and I was his girlfriend, and we spent as much time together as possible—getting comfortable in each other's lives. We met one another's parents and friends, we went out to dinner and social outings, and watched movies snuggled-up on the couch. We went for walks and talked into the middle of the night. We did all the things couples do.
I continued to work at Roxy's twice a week, but it wasn't a big deal. People asked me about it, but their curiosity was quenched after a few short questions and answers. I liked all of my coworkers there, and none of them treated me any differently, for better or for worse, when they heard I was dating Eric.
He loved the lucky cup promotion. He thought it was a genius idea, and he thanked me multiple times for coming up with it. My lucky cups had gotten more detailed and intricate than the ones I used to whip up before a shift at the coffee shop. I had to step up my game with the promotion and everything.
Eric stepped up with the rules, too.
The distribution was fair and mapped-out so that employees couldn’t be tempted to offer it to a friend. A lucky cup, when redeemed, was worth a hundred dollars cash and a Roxy's t-shirt. It was part of the promotion. You could take your lucky cup to the roasting house on North 57th Street and trade it for a hundred dollars. And since it was just doodling on a paper cup and not a fine piece of art, it was a no brainer that people would turn it in.
Most of them took pictures with it and then turned it in for the prize within a few days. In the weeks since they had been introduced, most of them had been redeemed, but a few were still MIA. Several of my old ones had been turned in, too, which was also part of the deal.
There had been more than two weeks of the promotion so far, and it was fun to check the hashtag each day on social media and see if anyone posted. People had taken some artistic photographs with their lucky cup, and I loved having my little art piece featured in someone else's creativity.
Everything regarding the promotion was wonderful.
Until 3:52pm on a random Friday afternoon.
I was about to get off of work.
My boss, Janet, had just come into my office space. She said for me to meet her in her office in five minutes—that she wanted to give me a few notes about next week's projects so that I could be thinking about them. She told me I was free to leave for the day after that.
I wrapped up what I was doing and gathered my things. I had plans for dinner with Eric and his family that evening, and I was happy to go home a little early and start getting ready.
Just before I went to Janet's office, I glanced at my phone to see if Eric had called or texted. He hadn't, but that didn't surpr
ise me. I had already talked to him on my lunch break, and I knew he had plans to pick me up at 6:30.
While I had my phone out, I looked at Instagram. I searched the hashtag #roxysluckycup so frequently that it came up as soon as I pressed the search bar.
There were a few new entries, and I smiled as I stared down at the photos.
I clicked on the first one to enlarge it. It was a photo of a woman with her cup in one hand and a homemade sign that said winner-winner-chicken-dinner in fancy, handwritten script.
I was smiling at that one until I scrolled far enough to focus on the next photo.
It was a split-screen photo with two images in one. The photos were zoomed-in on various parts of the cup with red circles superimposed on the screen like they were pointing certain things out. I scrolled down and read the comment.
So, I got a lucky cup at Roxy's Coffee on Cottman Avenue today, and honestly, guys, meh. Meh is being generous. This cup is okay at best. I was thrilled when I realized I had been chosen as a winner of Roxy's lucky cup promotion, but then I was immediately underwhelmed by what I had been given. The art itself, while being hand drawn and one of a kind, looks to have been done by an eighth grader. The experience as a whole was pretty good, and with a little more effort by art department at Roxy's, it could be a great concept. The full breakdown of my experience with a #roxysluckycup along with more photos can be found on my blog. Link in bio.
I finished reading that caption, feeling a bit like I was in a dream—a nightmare. How and why was someone taking time out of their day to write such hurtful things? I felt actual heat fill my chest and rise up my neck and into my head. I blushed, and not the good kind where my cheeks turned pink and I looked pretty. This was the kind where I knew my whole face was red. The kind where I had to sit down and cool off for a minute.
I felt hurt by her words, and while I knew I shouldn't go to her bio and follow the link to her blog, that was the first thing I did. My face was flaming hot as the website opened and I stared at close-up photos of my own work.
She wrote a whole essay on her experience, detailing what the barista was wearing and what he said when he handed her the cup. She talked about what the coffee tasted like and everything. I tried to scan those parts because I knew Janet would be expecting me in her office. The blog entry was longer than I thought it would be, and I didn't have time to read it all. I didn't want to read it all.
I scanned until I found the paragraphs where she tore my drawing apart—ripped it to shreds. My flaws were stated in detail.
The shading is off.
These lines… what are they connecting to? All of the line work needs to be thinner.
Who draws a hand like this?
This character is too top heavy. How would she even walk? She would topple over. Bad character design.
Unrealistic, uninspired.
I am left feeling underwhelmed.
Sorry, but this lucky cup was a lucky flunk. Thank God I get a hundred bucks out of the deal because otherwise I would be mad at Roxy's for making me go through the trouble of winning.
I read all the words that detailed the things I had done wrong. I looked at the corresponding photos—things she had circled. And by the end of it, I kind of agreed with her. I could see what she was talking about with the line work. Maybe the rabbit character was too top heavy.
That cup had been one of my favorites when I put it out, and now it was officially my most hated cup I had ever done. It was my most hated drawing ever.
Why was I drawing lucky cups anyway? I hadn't meant for them to be a part of a big a promotion. This was Eric's idea, not mine. I hadn't meant for there to be fliers. Drawing on cups was just something I enjoyed. I wanted to give them to regular customers and friends. People who enjoyed them for what they were worth—people who might just get a smile out of finding a drawing on their coffee cup. I never dreamed I would have my work picked apart on someone's blog. Was it even okay for her to do that? Was it considered slander? Could I make her pull it down off of the internet? Could I, at least, pull that post off of Instagram?
My mind began racing with different ways to defend myself—to make this whole thing go away.
Emotions flooded through me as I read and re-read some of the things she wrote. It was humiliating. She was telling everyone on the whole internet that the lucky cups at Roxy's royally sucked, and there was nothing I could do about it.
She wrote well. She sounded intelligent and convincing, and she was sarcastic and funny, only it was at my expense and the pain of it was physical. I felt an unpleasant, hot, gushing, rushing sensation that made me feel ill. I was nauseous and light headed. It was definitely a panic attack. I had experienced them before and I knew what they felt like. But that didn't stop me from feeling like I was about to die. I wanted to lie on the floor, right there in my cubical.
Eric would, no doubt, see this and figure out that the whole lucky cup thing was a bust. I felt, in an odd way, like this could disrupt our relationship—possibly end it. Dread, fear, hurt, embarrassment, anger. All of these things throbbed and pulsed through my body.
I was in a complete daze as I dropped my phone into my purse and went into Janet's office. I was on autopilot during the short meeting with my boss, but I made it through without her noticing that I was distracted. I was distracted, though. I was sick with it. I could not wait to get home so that I could just break down and cry.
I left Stone Lion, feeling woozy and sick to my stomach. I called Eric on my way home and told him I had gotten sick at work and wouldn't be able to make it to dinner. He was worried about me and offered to come over and take care of me, but I insisted that it was something I ate and that I wanted to just go home and go to bed.
It was a rough night for me.
Those hours were full of doubt, hurt, fear, and embarrassment. It truly did seem like the end of the world—at least the end of my world as I knew it. Lucky cups were supposed to be happy. I had no idea how I was supposed to be happy and produce something joyful when I knew there were people out there who would judge me so harshly.
Then I made the mistake of going back to the post. I guess I was hoping it would disappear. All I found was the devastating news that other people had liked it. Multiple people had actually reached out and pressed the like button on all of the mean things she said about me. In fact, her post had more likes then a lot of the others under the Roxy's lucky cup hashtag. It caused me to experience an odd sort of hurt, seeing those likes coming from people who didn't know me. How could other people encourage her to be mean to me? What in the world had happened? I thought I was just putting something fun and positive into the world, and all I felt was attacked.
I wallowed in a sea of self-doubt and self-pity all evening.
Eric texted me, and I gave him all the right answers to make him think I was fine but still dealing with food poisoning.
I was scheduled to work my shift at Roxy's at 8am the following morning. I went back and forth about whether or not I was going to call in sick. I had taken scheduled days off, but I had never called in sick at the last minute, and I knew my story could match what Eric already thought was the truth.
I was restless and I woke up at 6am not knowing whether or not I would call in sick. There were multiple reasons for me to go.
For starters, I knew I had to go on with my life. It simply wasn't an option to quit going to work and functioning for the rest of my life.
Also, I wanted to go to make sure nobody was talking about it.
The worry of it all had actually caused me to feel sick, though, so I physically didn't feel like going.
I called and talked to Carly who took the message. She gave her well-wishes and said they'd work on finding someone to replace me for my shift.
Chapter 19
I spent my morning watching a dramatic series on television that was set in medieval times. I watched two-and-a-half episodes, and I barely followed the storyline because the whole time, my thoughts were consumed wi
th blogs and social media posts.
I was generally a positive person, and I hated feeling discouraged and sad. I cried a lot last night, but this morning, I was doing a little better. I had a good cry after I called in sick to work, but I had been able to keep from doing it while I watched television.
It was just after 10am when I got a call from Eric.
I answered on the second ring.
I knew if my voice was puny, it would only reinforce my lie. "Hello?"
"How are you?" he asked.
"Better than last night," I said, since it was the truth.
"I thought you were going to try to go to work this morning."
We had talked about it the night before when I called him to tell him I couldn't go to dinner. I told him it wasn't that bad and I was sure I'd be right as rain in the morning.
"I debated on going this morning, but I wasn't quite there yet," I said.
"Can I please come over and see you? Bring you something? Soup? Popsicles?"
"No, no, you don't need to do that. Thank you. How was the Annabella last night?" (That was where we were supposed to eat.)
"It was fine. Good. I was worried about you."
"Oh, I'm sorry," I said. "I'm fine."
"You don't sound fine."
"I am. I'm just out of it. I was just sitting here, watching a movie."
"Can I come watch it with you?" he asked.
"Yes."
I wanted to deny him. I wanted to be alone and shut out everyone and everything, but I couldn’t get the word no to come out of my mouth when it came to Eric. He asked me if he could come over and watch a movie with me, and the only logical answer to that was yes.
***
Eric knocked on the door of my apartment thirty minutes later with grocery bags in hand. He had stopped for a sick care package with popsicles, soup and crackers, and a few different drink options.
He was everything I ever dreamed of, which in my fragile state, was somehow a bad thing.
He was definitely too good for me.
Me & Mister Everything: A Romance (Tanner Family Book 4) Page 12