The Con

by Nicole Marsh

  This isn’t my side of town and, I’ve never had the motivation, time, or really the money to visit a coffee shop. The realization of all I’ve been missing by never venturing out of my little bubble creates a pang of regret, deep in my chest.

  I wish I had visited here, before today.

  The coffee shop looks like it belongs in a movie, yet feels quaint and homey like the rest of our small Alabama town.

  I feel the heat of Collin’s body against my back and I’m about to turn, to tell him how much I love this place and to thank him for bringing me here. Before I can complete the movement, a voice booms over the low, soothing music playing in the shop.

  “I’ve missed you, sugar.” The words carry across the room, spoken by a boisterous southern voice. One that pronounces the word sugar the southern way, “shugah.”

  My eyes scan the shop in search of the owner of the voice until they finally land on a dark-skinned woman standing near a door to the far right. She’s wearing a colorful scarf over her hair and a black half-apron covered in flour.

  Collin brushes past me, a smile splitting his face as he approaches the counter. The woman meets him part way to give a firm squeeze over the top, holding him tightly in a motherly embrace.

  “Hi Anna,” Collin drawls when they finally break apart.

  Her eyes inspect him for a second, then her focus transfers to me. “And who is your little lady friend?”

  I felt like I was watching a movie, viewing the interaction as it unfolded before me. Now both sets of eyes become intent on me, with Collin using a hand to gesture me forward. I force my feet to move, creating a small clacking noise as I walk against the wooden floors in my heeled sandals.

  It takes ages to reach the counter with both of them staring at me, but when I do, I offer a hand to Anna and introduce myself, “Hi, I’m Kenzie, McKenzie, Carslyle.”

  Anna enthusiastically shakes my hand, a warm smile still sitting on her face. “Nice to meet you, sugar. I’m Annabelle May Wright, but ya can call me Anna.” She winks to punctuate the words as she releases my hand. “Now I know ya dint come all this way just to meet an old woman. What canna get ya two?”

  I gesture for Collin to go first, tuning him out as he orders a drink without consulting the menu. Meanwhile, my eyes frantically scan the words, trying to find something I’m familiar with, besides “drip coffee”. I’m unsure why, but for some reason I don’t want Collin to know this is my first time into a coffee house, ordering expensive coffee.

  Usually I brew my own caffeine, at home. In the old, finicky coffee maker I found at the local thrift shop. It isn’t pretty, but it makes a mean cup of Folgers, which has always been enough for me.

  Silence lingers, alerting me Anna is awaiting my order. Determined not to give myself away, I offer her a sweet smile, accompanied by equally sweet words. “Everything here just looks so delicious. I’m having a hard time deciding.” She beams at my praise, confirming my suspicions that she’s the owner of this quaint caffeine oasis. I continue, moving in for the kill, “What would you recommend? I was thinking something iced.”

  “How ‘bout a blended drink instead? A Mocha Frappuccino? It’s a hot one today. Something blended will keep ya cool.”

  I nod after I process her words, her drawl is much more pronounced than most, making her harder to understand. “Sounds delicious!” I reply, agreeing to her suggestion.

  Taking a half step back, I wait beside Collin near the register. Together, our eyes follow Annabelle May as she dances behind the counter, transforming the act of making two coffees into an art form. It doesn’t take her long to turn back around and offer us our cups.

  I examine both quickly, hoping to determine which one is mine without giving away that I’ve never had a mocha Frappuccino. I laugh when I notice Collin and I ordered the same thing. Each of Anna’s hands holds the exact same drink, a giant cup of brown, slushy liquid, each topped with a pile of whip cream.

  With trembling hands, I pull my wallet out of the tiny purse I strapped across my body this morning. I’m nervous what the total will be for two huge drinks that look this scrumptious. Pushing the trepidation aside, I inhale deeply and prepare to part with some of my hard-earned cash. Collin places a warm hand over my two clammy ones, halting my movements as I unfold the battered leather to remove my money.

  I shoot him a questioning glance.

  “I’ll get this,” he says, wallet already in hand.

  My brow creases with my furious frown. “No,” I respond adamantly. “This was supposed to be a thank you. How am I supposed to show my gratitude if you pay for our coffee?”

  Eyes locked, we both square our shoulders, immersed in a staring contest that equates a battle of wills. Annabelle May stands behind the counter, watching our interaction. She presses a few buttons on the old-fashioned register and the total pops up on the tiny, customer-facing window. “It’s $4.13.” She tells me with a pointed look at Collin over my shoulder, her grin still happily in place.

  I feel my shoulders draining of tension and Collin moves his hand away from mine, releasing his hold on me and my wallet. I count out six one-dollar bills and hand five of them to Annabelle May, placing the sixth into the Mason jar with “Tips” scrawled across the side in black script. She hands me back a few coins and I dump them into the jar as well.

  Collin moves forward to touch me again, this time placing his free hand against my lower back and guiding me to a table in the far corner. I fight the urge to inspect the menu, wanting to calculate if Annabelle May gave me a discount or not. Four dollars seems awfully cheap for two huge coffees.

  I may be poor, but I can’t stand to be pitied. I don’t want her to discount the price for me because she’s worried, I can’t pay. Although I would typically consider this an unnecessary expense, I can afford it.

  Well, kind of.

  A chair scrapes loudly against the tiled floor, interrupting my desire to defend my pride. Collin’s expression is sheepish as I follow the line of his arms to the offending chair. He shrugs before plopping down and patting the seat beside him. I obey the silent instruction, comfortably settling into the table, next to him.

  “Thank you for saving me.” I hold my plastic cup up, waiting for Collin to clank his against mine, in a mock cheers motion. He does so rather dramatically and I laugh when he sticks his pinky out before taking his first sip. “So fancy.”

  “The fanciest,” he agrees.

  Excitedly, I take a long drink of my blended delicacy. The second the liquid slips down my throat, I bend over the table, clasping my head in both hands. “Ahhhh. Brain freeze,” I exclaim as my body cramps in protest over the frozen beverage.

  “Put your tongue against the roof of your mouth,” Collin instructs after only a brief chuckle at my suffering.

  I do as he says and almost instantly feel relief. As soon as I’m capable of speaking, I mutter, “You’re a genius.”

  Silence reigns while I hold my head, allowing my brain freeze to recede. “Do you want to play a game?” Collin eventually asks, ignoring my previous statement and pointing to a bookshelf situated against the opposite wall.

  Gently pushing my chair away from the table, I wince as a scraping noise much worse than Collins cuts across the quiet music and peaceful ambience. His chuckle covers my embarrassment, providing a second for me to brush it off. I walk over to the bookcase and peruse their selection of games.

  Out of all the ones on the shelves, there are only two I’m familiar with, Connect Four and Clue. Grabbing a game with each hand, I hold them up for Collin to check out. “Either of these suit your fancy?”

  He taps his finger against his chin to pretend he’s deeply contemplating the question. “Hmmm, I think I’m ready to solve a mystery.”

  With a giggle, I place Connect Four back onto the shelf and bring Clue to the table. We open the box and work together to set up the board with all the pieces. We each pick our pawns; Miss Scarlet for me and Professor Plum for Collin.

  Sh
uffling the cards, we divvy things up and quickly get lost in the game. An indeterminate amount of time passes, as I lose myself to the simple pleasure of trying to outwit Collin. As I pick up the last clue to solve the game, I reach for my drink, placing the straw against my lips to slurp up more of the delicious chocolatey coffee, but nothing comes through the straw except air.

  With a frown, I place the plastic cup back on the table. Simultaneously, Collin calls out, “Miss Scarlet in the ballroom with a candlestick!”

  He throws his cards down onto the table, preparing to take part in some victory gloating. “No way,” I shout, interrupting him. “It’s Mrs. Peacock in the ballroom with the candlestick!” I throw down my own cards, pointing out how he’s wrong. His grin falls into a frown, but I ignore him, celebrating my triumph. Throwing my hands in the air, I yell, “Winner!”

  Collin chuckles, accepting his defeat with grace. He begins to return the pieces to the box and I move to help him. A pang of disappointment hits my chest when he returns the game to the open space on the bookshelf then remains standing next to the table instead of returning to his seat.

  He glances down to his wrist, to check a watch that looks like it costs more than my trailer. I think he also seems a little disappointed, before he quietly speaks, “Hey, I need to get going.”

  My face falls at the thought of having to part ways, which I purposefully avoid brooding about.

  Avoiding my gaze, Collin continues, “I had fun today though and want to see you again… Would you maybe wanna hang out tomorrow? We could just go for a drive.” His face looks hopeful when he eventually meets my eyes across the table.

  My lips form a grin, in reaction to his suggestion. “I’d really like that.”

  His entire face lights up in a smile to my response. “How about I take you home and bring your bike around tomorrow when I pick you up?”

  I hesitate for a second, rethinking my agreement to his original plan. In my mind, I compare my dingy trailer to his parent’s mansion. Suddenly, I become embarrassed about being dropped off at home by the guy that owns such nice things.

  I allow the feeling to linger for about seven seconds, then I shrug it off.

  He knows where I’m from, he’s seen me there before, just the other day actually. There’s no use in trying to pretend my life is anything different than what it is.

  “We could do that. Thanks.”

  Chapter 8

  Collin and I never set a time for today and I don’t have his phone number, meaning I have no idea when, or even if, we’re meeting. I shot upright in bed, at six this morning, panicking he would show up while I was still asleep. In my dreams, nightmares really, I was answering the door with my hair sticking up in every direction, no pants, and a line of dried drool down my chin.

  It’s no surprise I couldn’t fall back to sleep after a dream like that.

  Instead, I use the extra time to prepare for the day. For the third time in a week, which is more than my monthly average, I take my time getting ready. I use an ancient curling iron with a sticky clip. The same one my mom left in the bathroom, still plugged in, when she abandoned me and her trailer. With an unsteady hand, I curl my thick, inky strands of hair, starting halfway down the long pieces to save time and effort.

  Approximately thirty minutes later, I have successfully wrapped every piece over the iron at least once. When I finish, I turn my head right and left, inspecting the results. The curls aren’t even, but they look kind of sloppy and sexy.

  Perching on the closed toilet with my computer, I hack into my neighbor’s Wi-Fi. Honestly, choose a better password than password1234 if you don’t want freeloaders. With my clunky, old laptop and free Wi-Fi, I google “How to create a smoky eye”.

  When my mother left me here over two years ago, she also left half her clothes and a ton of her beauty supplies. What I no longer have in parents, I’m compensated for in stripper heels and cheap make-up, neither of which has come in handy until today.

  Using my mom’s old shadows, I swipe and smudge, following the tutorial’s exact instructions to create the complicated look. The video finishes and I use the cracked mirror to examine my face. The effect makes me look like I have a black eye, instead of turning me into the sultry goddess it advertised. Laughing, I wiggle my eyebrows and watch the dark makeup mesh together even further to become a darker blob. Wandering out to the hall, I snag a washcloth to wipe away the horrible new look.

  After scrubbing off the cheap shadow with a wet cloth, I pause and stare at my bare-faced reflection. Dark, arching brows, a pert nose, narrow face, plump lips, and chocolate eyes return my focused stare. My skin is tanned and freckled from the summer sun, making me appear more exotic than I normally do. I angle my head in each direction, critically eyeing my appearance.

  My mother always used to tell me I was her “mini-me”. Her skin aged before its time as excess cigarettes, alcohol, and sun, took their toll. If I wrinkle my brow and squint my eyes just so, I can see a glimmer of her. In my opinion we don’t look much alike, but she used to brag about my appearance as if it made her a beauty queen.

  Straightening my features, I push myself off the sink. I chalk the shadow up to a failed experiment and stalk off to my room, my hair swinging gently behind me as I make my way to the closet.

  Dressing in a pair of cutoffs and a tank top, I rest against the edge of my bed and begin tapping my left foot impatiently. I watch three minutes tick by on my alarm clock before deciding to make some eggs. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day… and it will make the time go by faster.

  While I scrape the spatula around the bottom of the pan, flipping eggs about before they burn, I convince myself I’m not nervous to see Collin. None of this is about him. It’s about the con Derek and I have planned for his parent’s house. That’s it.

  My ears perk at the sound of a knock tapping lightly against my front door. Giddy excitement bubbles up, a feeling comparable to the time my mom took me to the fair to ride my first rollercoaster. I skip to the door, yanking it open with a grin.

  Waiting on the other side is a shirtless Derek. He’s grinning back at me as the sun reflects off his pale skin. Instinctually, my eyes trace an image of dark ink. They follow the path of a snake that starts on his left bicep, winding upwards, creating a line like a dangling necklace across his chest, and ending in a hissing mouth on his right pec. Derek flexes his chest muscles in response, causing his pecs to dance under my scrutiny.

  “What do you want?” I snap out, annoyed my eyes wandered without my permission.

  He leans forward, invading my space as his nose practically touches mine. I step back, prepared to slam the door on him. Sensing my immediate ire, he quickly straightens, placing one palm against the door frame and raising the other in a pacifying manner. “Woah, woah woah. Somebody’s ornery in the morning. Just wanted to drop by and check on your progress.”

  I glare at him as he stands on my porch. “It’s been one day. Are we on some type of deadline you didn’t tell me ‘bout?” I snap out, my hand dropping to my hip, the motion matching my sassy attitude.

  Derek walks backwards down my steps, his palms still in front of him as if to calm me. “No, no. Didn’t want you to forget about our arrangement is all.”

  “I’m not a dimwit, Derek. I’m not going to forget about something we talked about one day ago.”

  He smirks at me, with his hands still raised in the air before turning on his heel and sauntering away. Just before he’s out of sight, he calls over his shoulder, “Don’t forget the other thing we talked about Kenzie-girl. Girls alone,” he pauses his words dramatically while continuing to retreat. “They find themselves in spots of trouble all the time.”

  I scoff in an attempt to brush off his words. Derek is not a good guy, but I doubt he’s truly threatening me. As I move to close my door, I spot a glint of black paint flashing down the road and the beating of my heart speeds up with anticipation.

  Collin.

  Attempting t
o tame my reaction, I reason any number of people could drive a vehicle, with shiny black paint, into the trailer park, but my feet are already carrying me into my trailer to gather the rest of my things. I grab my small purse, holding a few dollars, my ancient flip phone and a house key, glancing around to check if I need anything else. Not spotting anything, I twist the tiny lock in the handle, and shut the door behind me as I move onto the yellow, patchy grass preceding my trailer.

  Collin’s massive SUV slides into view, inching closer as he slowly navigates the bumpy, pock-ridden road. His swanky car rolls to a stop in front of my trailer and he hops out, jogging around the hood to meet me.

  My eyes drink in his handsome face, his blonde hair flopping lightly over his forehead as he moves. His thickly muscled arms are fully visible in the loose, light-blue tank top he’s wearing. When he reaches me, our eyes connect and he gives a giant, genuine smile. “Hey!”

  “Hey yourself,” I respond, straining to maintain my normally cool demeanor. Something about Collin makes me want to flutter my lashes and flirt, which is far from my normal behavior around guys.

  Collin’s eyes flash over my form, pausing briefly on my bag before returning to my face. “All ready?”

  I offer a curt nod, covering my awkwardness with a tentative step towards the car. Collin snags the handle, opening the passenger side for me, and offering to help me up. I quirk a brow at his extended hand, grabbing the handle and pulling myself in instead.

  Colling laughs. “Miss Independent,” he quips, good-naturedly.

  Once I’m tucked into my seat, he gently shuts the door, then jogs back around the car. I watch him through the windshield, then the driver’s side window, keeping my head tilted down to check him out through my lashes. He’s so handsome, and unexpectedly kind for some big hotshot football player. I expected him to have an ego the size of Texas, considering everyone in the county celebrates his throwing abilities, but Collin seems really sweet. He makes me wish I was the kind of girl he could fall for.