by L. J. Woods
Damien King.
He’s sitting beside a brunette, hair down to what looks like an inflated chest. She looks no older than me, flipping her silky strands behind her shoulder. The gesture reveals sparkling Chanel earrings. A match for the pristine white blazer hanging off her slender frame.
My eyes don’t stay on her for long though. Oh no. No matter how blinding her jewelry is. I’m too distracted by Damien.
His eyes bore into me as if he’s trying to read my mind, threading that silver coin through his fingers. He’s in all black again, shirt clinging to his tight body. His sleeves rolled up to his elbows reveal more tattoos. I try to make them out but I’m damn near breathless with the way he’s looking at me. It’s like everyone else around us fades into darkness. Like we’re back in that hallway again. Alone. Damien and I.
I can hear my heart in my chest, my mind playing that moment over in my head.
You don’t belong here. And don’t you think for a second you can enter my world.
Laughter from the table pulls me out of my trance before the guy with shiny curls next to Damien pats him on the back. Damien’s gaze doesn’t waiver and I can’t tell if there’s a spark. Or if he’s still angry from our run-in at the train station.
There’s another guy at the end of the booth, tan skin, eyes like emeralds and he’s laughing with Shiny Curls. Another girl sits next to Lea with smooth porcelain skin, a green headband, furry looking sweater. She has jewels on her fingers, long red nails to her face as they whisper to each other.
This group looks like an ad for an upscale department store but while they look engaged, Damien seems…distant.
“Jo?” I don’t notice my sister standing in front of me until she tugs on my shirt. “How’d it go?”
“Good!” I pull my eyes away from the table before I put my sister's shoulders between my palms. I smile down at her. “So good that I’m starting right away!" I wince, "Would you hate hanging here in the meantime?”
“No! This is great!” Willow’s voice becomes muffled, my gaze back on the table.
Damien’s eyes are still on me. This time they look bluer. I try not to smile but I can’t help it, especially when I remember his coffee-stained hoodie.
“Jo!”
“Yeah?” I whip my eyes back to my sister, but not without a glance at the table first.
He looks so smug sitting there. Like the royalty he claims and I can’t settle on my feelings. I want to tell him where to shove it but I also can’t take my eyes off those supple-looking lips.
My sister tugs on my shirt, bringing me the couple of inches down to her level. “Don’t.”
I look her in her eyes, they’re wide. Agitated. “What?”
“You don’t want to talk to those guys, they’re the Kings of Elite Royal Academy.”
Jerking my head back I snort, “The what now?”
The whole table looks our way, the brunette twisting her lips.
Willow rolls her eyes, something she got from me. “The Kings!” Her voice is a hushed whisper but she sounds annoyed. As if I’m supposed to know all this when we only got here last night. “The one in the black is Damien. Next to him is Isaac and Christian. Everyone at The Academy knows them as the Kings.”
I smirk at a realization. “Damien, Isaac and Christian? Doesn’t that spell DIC like...Dick?”
Willow looks like she can't help but crack a smile. “Well from what I hear, they kind of are. Nobody messes with them. If they do, they're blacklisted."
My head cocks to the side. “The hell? Hear from who?”
She points her chin to the tablet on the counter. “You can find out a lot from QuickToc.”
“They don’t look that threatening.” I take another peek around Willow’s head, my eyes catching Damien's again. “And the one with the dark cloud over his head keeps checking me out.”
He fits in with the group but he also sticks out like a sore thumb. A black sheep. Something I’m all too used to being.
“Jo.” Willow’s hand comes to my chest. Is she that worried about these idiots? “We’re new and we’re from The Grove. We’re likely already on their hit list. Please don’t do anything stupid.”
Kings, huh? Willow forgets that we’ve dealt with their kind before. Okay, I’ve dealt with their kind before and these guys can’t be any different.
“Jo?” Willow asks, her hands out as if she’s taming a wild bear.
I look down at her and wink. “Always better to befriend the enemy right?” With a glance their way I throw the beige smock over my head, tightening it at the waist. Grabbing a notepad from the counter, I force a smile. “My shift begins.”
Three
My heart thuds with every step as I make my way over to Damien’s table.
Getting close, the air becomes thick with musky cologne and sweet perfume.
When Damien realizes where I’m headed, he moves back in his seat, like he’s waiting for a movie to begin. With his eyes on me, he spins the coin between his index and thumb.
When I get in front of the table, their chatter quiets.
“Hey, I’m Jo!” I try my best to force a smile to my eyes, feeling the stretch in my cheeks.
The brunette crosses her arms, small eyes narrow as they trail up my body. A smile appears on her face but it seems more smug than friendly. The expression of the wavy-haired blonde next to her takes the cake. She blinks, her lip moving to her nose in what looks like sheer disgust.
Damien’s eyes land on my forearms. Notepad in hand, I place my hand over my tattoo, unsure if he’s looking at the tall evergreen or the scar. I clear my throat, causing his eyes to land back on mine, but he doesn’t look fazed. His eyes don’t tell me much at all.
Brunette follows his gaze before she sits up in her seat. She rests a hand on Damien's shoulder. “A Skinny Hazelnut Macchiato. Double shot. Nonfat. Extra whip. Extra hot."
Shiny Curls winks a brown eye. “And four large half-caf lattes."
“Uh—” I freeze, unsure if they’re speaking English. “You sure you don’t want anything a little simpler? I’m new here. Still getting used to the place.”
He leans his elbow on the table with a way-too-perfect smile. He’s got cinnamon skin, droopy almond eyes. His stare tells me he’s already half in the bag but his royal blue sports jacket tells me he’s too rich to care. His gold watch catches the light as he curls his fingers under his chin, his eyes falling to my chest.
I wrinkle my nose as the boy at the end gives him a shove. He glances up at me, green eyes sparkling, a wide smile showing off teeth fit for an advertisement.
Green Eyes shakes his head with a chuckle. “Don’t mind Isaac, I’m not even sure what he’s on today.”
This one’s a charmer, and he’s not too bad to look at either. The boys where I’m from don’t look like Hollister models. His square jawline encases pouty lips. Thick eyebrows under shaggy brown hair. To top it all off he’s actually being friendly instead of giving me rude looks. Or outright ignoring me like the rest of his crew.
He leans forward. “I’m Christian, and Lea’s a monster without her Hazelnut Macchiato.”
“I understand.” I return his smile. “So is my boss.”
Christian winces, sitting back in his seat. He looks down at his floral shirt while the brunette scoffs, “Excuse me?”
“Yeah, she totally made me start right away without any warning or training,” I ramble. “This place is gorgeous but I’m not sure she knows how to run it.”
No one says anything. They all stare at me like I’m not from this planet.
After what seems like hours, Damien sits up. “If you’re done running your trap, be a good girl and fetch us that order.” Goosebumps crawl up my skin at the first sound of his voice. It’s as deep as I remember. Smooth and bassy. “Or do I have to tell Lea’s mom the help is already slacking?”
Fuck. “Wait, what?”
The clicking of heels behind me makes me turn my attention to Cindy Huang in the middle of the
room. She waves with a set of keys in her hand, ring looped around her thumb. “Hi, sweetie! I’m going to have to cancel our weekend spa trip. Victoria has her grand opening in the Acres and you know how she gets. You understand right?”
I turn around to see Lea waving back and I want to melt into the floor. She flashes a strained smile. “Of course. What about my piano recital on Monday?”
“You’re right, better cancel that too. See you at home sweetie!” Cindy leaves through the doors and I’ve frozen again. Shit.
Isaac must notice my expression since he lets out a laugh, eyes finally on my face. "You couldn't tell?" He brings two fingers to the corner of his eyes, pulling at the skin.
Lea reaches over, slapping his hand.
"Don't be racist Isaac,” the blonde says, sounding bored as she taps on her phone.
"What? I'm black!"
"That doesn't make it any less racist dude!" Christian shakes his head, laughing.
Isaac pushes his shoulder. "Whatever, Ricky Martin."
"Dude!" Christian shoves him back before glancing up at me. "Yeah, we really need those coffees."
“I’ll take mine with a double shot of that bourbon Cindy has in the bottom drawer.” Damien smirks, “Better hurry.”
Instead of mentioning yesterday’s incident, I bite my tongue, glancing back at my sister. I turn around before something comes out of my mouth that’ll end my barista career before it’s even begun.
Willow doesn’t acknowledge me on my way behind the counter, slinking in her seat, tablet in front of her face. I’m doing all this for her and she rather side with those assholes instead of her sister.
Unbelievable.
Groaning I take a look at the machines lining the counter, shining in chrome. I sigh. I have no idea how to use these. While I’m used to an old drip coffee pot, this thing has like five nozzles and fifty buttons. And a screen! Poking a button, nothing happens and I drop my shoulders, groaning again.
I glance at my sister. She must notice my confusion because she gives me a small shrug.
Next to the large coffee machine are rows of beans labelled from different countries. Brazil. Colombia. Jamaica. There’s a coffee maker that looks familiar, a funnel of beans on top.
They'll never know, right?
Moving over I grab a mug, the buttons and handles looking much easier to handle. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves and keep my job before I hear that voice that sends a shiver up my spine.
“Not a chance.”
The smell of pine and peppermint blends with the strong aroma of coffee. Like walking through a forest on a winter’s day.
“I don’t do filtered coffee. I’m not an animal. The manual for the espresso machine is in the same drawer as that bourbon.”
It’s Damien, but when I turn to my left he’s already heading for the bathroom, a tight ass in dark fitted denim. He’s a dick, but I take his suggestion. I’m relieved when I find a black and white manual in the bottom drawer of the small register.
I’m able to get the drinks going but I’m slow as hell. Most of the thing is in Italian and I keep pressing the wrong buttons.
PFFFT!
The machine spits hot steam in my face and I let out a squeal. I reach out in front of me to turn the thing off but I can’t find the handle that started this mess.
“Easy,” Damien’s voice returns before the machine quiets.
He’s next to me and when he pulls the mug out of my hand, electricity shoots down to my core. He doesn’t say anything as he rests the mug on the shiny metal grate. After tapping a few buttons, espresso pours out of the spouts.
He reaches around me, chest pressing against my back to pick up a small metal carafe. Foamy milk fills to the brim as he holds it under the spout. “Do that again five times.” Without looking at me he points to the two rows of syrup on the far end of the back counter. “Hazelnut’s in the middle.”
I lift a brow. “Didn’t think you’d want to help.”
“I know how I like my coffee. And it’s not all over my sweater.” He grabs the small square bottle out of the drawer, dropping it on the counter. “You know, you can tell a lot about a person from their coffee order.” With another look up and down my body, he smirks. “And you look like you take yours with a ton of cream.”
He walks away as the cup starts to overflow. My heart’s still racing when I stop the machine the same way I saw him start it. It takes me another while to get all their orders together, but I’ve got them all done except Lea’s. I set the machine again before I make my way over to the table with a tray, careful to keep the mugs steady.
“Got one more on the way.” I glance at Damien. He's twirling that coin again, acting as if we hadn't interacted at all.
What the fuck was that cream comment supposed to mean?
He hasn’t said anything about the train station either and I can’t tell if that’s good or bad. With how much alcohol was on his breath, I’m not sure if he even remembers.
Lea’s glares have gotten more narrow. “I’d leave you a tip but all I have are credit cards." She watches as I place the tray on the table before I meet her eye contact. “And you look like a girl who likes her tips in one-dollar bills.”
Placing the mug with bourbon in front of Damien I raise an eyebrow, my jaw tightening. Standing up straight, I clear my throat. “Listen, I’m sorry for what I said…”
“We’ll be willing to forgive and forget,” Isaac’s words slur into each other. He licks his lips. “If you get up on this table and put on a show.”
Blondie jumps in next, wiggling the latest iPhone, “I can find ‘Cherry Pie’ on one of my music subscriptions."
Lea smiles an evil grin, “I don’t know, she strikes me like the Def Leppard kind of stripper.”
Bitches.
My fists clench before the words shoot out of my mouth, “Nah, I’d be the kind of stripper to punch your face in.”
Damien’s voice booms, “And you won’t know what it’s like to have five dollars if you don’t get that last drink here, pronto.”
I’m taken aback, Lea letting out a cackle before I can even turn around. Christian looks apologetic but an idea pops into my head. I smirk, walking behind the counter.
Crouching I reach for my backpack. Rummaging through the beat-up thing, my fingers feel the small glass bottle. Pulling it out I check the label for good measure, “Jamaican Black Castor Oil”. I check over my shoulder to make sure I’m out of sight before I tip the oil into the mug. This stuff does wonders for my hair but it also does wonders for clearing out a colon.
“Sorry about the wait.” I push the mug towards Lea who looks at me with pursed lips.
I added extra hazelnut syrup to make up for the taste and I’m hoping she doesn’t notice. When she takes a sip, I gulp down some air, crossing my fingers behind my back.
She smiles, “Next time you fuck up I’m telling my mom she needs to start looking for better servants—I mean, help.”
I turn around, muttering under my breath, “The next time you go to the bathroom you need to bring more paper.”
“Speak up whore!” Lea barks from behind me.
I’m biting my tongue so hard I’m starting to taste copper, but when I turn around I give her my best fuck-you smile. “Enjoy.”
Damien and his crew don't stick around too long which means the rest of my shift isn't as dramatic. The following customers don't seem to care who takes their order. Most want their coffee fix, getting whatever specialty beans are on filter. Others are patient enough to wait for their cappuccinos and lattes. As for the tips? Five and ten dollar bills add up.
Around nine, Cindy calls to say I can go once I clean up and take out the trash. She directs me to go through the back door and lock the front. Once I’m off the phone I lean against the counter, looking at the mess I made in the few hours of my shift. Coffee beans are everywhere, syrup spilling onto the counter.
“Want some help?” Willow asks.
I smile,
“I’ll give you the tips?”
She nods. “Deal.”
In an hour the shop is near spotless and I’m heading out the French doors with a big black bag.
When I push on the handle my sister calls out, “I’m going to the bathroom!”
I nod as the cool night air brushes across my face. The lot is empty save for two large green dumpsters at the far end. I’m not used to how quiet Eden Gardens is at night. I can even hear crickets chirping around me, the sound of my boots dragging on the pavement.
There’s a rustle from the small forest behind the cafe and I grip the bag tighter, my free hand in a fist. Shaking my head I laugh to myself, realizing where I am. As if there’d be anything worth running from in Eden. This neighbourhood has more Bentleys than it does criminals.
Making it to the dumpsters, I flip open the top of the one closest to me, throwing the bag over. I’m actually looking forward to going back to the Archibald mansion. Best case scenario, Nancy and Eric are already in bed. That means Willow and I can relax in my room with a movie and forget the shittiness of the day.
“Hey, Little Mama.”
His voice makes me jump, the lid of the garbage slipping from my fingers. It slams closed while I try to catch my breath.
No.
How?
What the fuck is he doing here?
I turn around to see if I'm hallucinating. “Zane?”
He lifts his chin so I can get a better look at his face, confirming what I suspect. The man I’ve been trying to avoid stands in front of me, black hood over his olive face.
“Hey, Little Mama.” He takes a step further in his black Timberlands, red skinny jeans tucked inside. “We didn’t get a chance to say good-bye.”
“Well now’s not a good time.” I try to walk around him but he blocks me, his chest puffed.
I look up to meet his hazel eyes, something we have in common. “I thought we meant more to each other.” He’s taking another step, pushing me back with his broad build.
“Yeah, you have a funny way of showing it.” I push against his chest, standing tall in my boots. “How did you even know where to find me?"