NATHAN
When I walk into the coffee shop, Hannah is already at the front of the line, one person away from ordering. I’m about to join her when her eyes stray to mine. The smile that puffs her cheeks is a better boost than any kind of caffeine.
She waves me away before I can move closer. “I got this. Grab that table. Quick!”
I roll my eyes so dramatically that there’s no way she can miss it, even across the room, letting her know what I think of having commands shouted at me.
“Asshole, we’re gonna lose it!”
A quick glance around the shop shows that the place is pretty crowded, and there’s only one free table left. I guess Shorty’s always right.
“Flavored coffee of the day, cream and sugar,” I call out my order, ignoring the other patrons watching our exchange with a range of amusement and annoyance.
She nods and shoos me toward the table, her panicked gaze taking in a pair of girls walking through the door, who glance around the shop with searching expressions.
Their eyes alight on the table, but they’ve got no chance. I’m already halfway there, and I’ve got experience with fighting tougher competition than them for coveted space.
Said competition is currently laughing at something the barista said to her. In any other situation, I’d love the sight of Hannah’s eyes creased in humor, white teeth flashing in an openmouthed smile. Problem is, the barista is a halfway-decent-looking guy who seems to have more than Shorty’s coffee order on his mind. He actually leans an elbow on the counter to get closer to her, an answering smile forming when she goes to whisper something in his ear.
What. The. Fuck?
Is the guy her boyfriend or something?
Hannah doesn’t seem the type to go around kissing dudes and then bringing them to the place where her guy works. Maybe he’s just her friend.
Her gay friend, hopefully.
The dude slides two cups across the counter to her with a wink.
My stomach churns, and my head burns hot. I hate to admit it, but I’m pretty sure my sudden onset of flu-like symptoms is actually a result of jealousy.
The emotion is new, and I’m not a fan.
It’s not that I haven’t been attracted to girls in the past. There’ve been a few relationships over the years. But I guess they were all pretty casual because I never felt particularly invested. Things always ended easily enough.
That easygoing approach doesn’t seem right when it comes to Hannah Mystery Last Name. When I texted her this morning about meeting up for coffee, I didn’t use the word date, which I’m thoroughly regretting now. The idea that some other guy might try to edge me out has my muscles clenching as if willing me to cross the room to wrap a possessive arm around her shoulders.
When did I suddenly turn into an overbearing caveman?
Luckily, the rational part of my mind points out that physically removing Hannah from the presence of anyone with a penis is unhealthy and is more likely to piss her off than endear her to me.
So, I keep to my seat.
I’m rewarded for my restraint because the moment Hannah reaches my side, she plants a kiss on my forehead before setting our coffees on the table and settling across from me.
“Good job. I thought I was going to have to brawl with someone to claim this table.” Her smiling eyes watch me over her lid as she takes a sip.
I mimic her movement, too dazed to do anything else.
She kissed me. The caress was nowhere near as passionate as what we had done last night, but somehow, the sweet casualness of the gesture felt more intimate. Like she might—
The coffee hits my tongue in an unexpected briny wave, like taking a swallow of the ocean. Luckily, not much made its way into my mouth because I send it spewing over the table. The napkin Hannah is holding up to shield herself catches most of what gets sprayed in her direction.
“What the hell?” The question barely makes it out through my coughing.
“That’s what you get!” Her fist pumps in the air before pointing at me in triumph.
“What are you talking about?” I pop off the lid of my drink. Inside, there’s just steaming water with a strong smell of salt. “Did you do this?”
“You’re damn right I did, Lucifer.” Hannah wears a wild grin. “Told you I’d make you pay.”
It takes me a second to remember what she’s referring to. Then, her promise from a few weeks ago whispers in my mind.
“Give up the seat, or face the consequences. This is your last chance.”
“You dirty little sneak.” I try—and fail—not to respond with my own smile. “And you call me the devil.”
“You practically begged for it.” She wiggles in her seat, having a mini victory dance.
However, if I thought Shorty was completely ruthless, that notion disappears when the flirty barista appears beside our table.
“Sorry, man. She said it was an inside joke. And it’s hard to say no to Hannah.”
The guy sets a cup in front of me but keeps his interested focus on my companion. There is small comfort in the fact that she only gives him a quick nod before attaching her eyes back to me.
“Thanks, Carl. I owe you one.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” He squeezes her shoulder before making his way back to the register, throwing more than one glance behind him at the oblivious woman across from me.
“That’s your actual order. I promise,” she says.
I deliberately raise one eyebrow. “Oh, and I’m supposed to just trust you now?”
The giddiness in Hannah’s smile dims slightly, and she grabs on to one of my hands. “You’re not mad, are you?”
The shift in her expression cuts at me, and I flip my hand in hers, so I can lace our fingers together.
“Mad that you used your evil genius mind to get revenge? Never.” Without checking the contents, I brace myself and take a hearty swallow of my replacement drink. Nothing but coffee washes over my tongue, and I let go of the tension in my shoulders.
Hannah hums in the back of her throat as she sips her own drink, smiling all the while.
No wonder Carl was willing to help with her mischief. How could any guy resist the intoxicating curve of her lips?
I try not to tighten my fingers possessively. “So, that barista seemed like he had no problem acting as the accomplice.”
Hannah grins. “I wasn’t sure he would, but I’ve let him borrow my Chem notes a couple of times, so I thought I might be able to work the guilt angle. Turns out, he didn’t need much convincing.” She shrugs and then sets a curious gaze on me. “Maybe you have more enemies than just me on this campus.”
A grunt of disapproval sneaks out before I can stop it. “After last night, I wouldn’t call us enemies. Besides, I don’t think I’m the reason he helped you out.”
Like a curious puppy, Hannah quirks her head to the side. The gesture makes me want to pull her out of her chair and onto my lap, where I can easily kiss her puckered lips.
Instead, I explain the obvious to her, “He’s got it bad for you.”
A crease forms between her eyebrows before she shakes her head. “That’s ridiculous. He was just being friendly.”
“Trust me, Shorty. This whole time, he’s been looking over here at you.”
Hannah wrinkles her nose, letting out a disbelieving snort. But when she turns in her seat, it’s to find Carl staring our way again. She returns his half-wave before settling back to face me.
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
I shake my head, slowly smirking at her, which only earns me a scowl.
“He does not have it bad for me. I’d be lucky if he even liked me as a friend.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Hannah fiddles with a napkin. “I’m not stupid. I know I can be a little much. To use the words of one of my classmates, I’m ‘demanding’ and ‘abrasive’ sometimes. You don’t seem to mind, which is nice.”
For a second, I think she’s joking. But when she continues to avoid my eyes, it’s clear Hannah actually believes what she’s saying.
“Of course I don’t mind being around you. You’re funny and ruthless and awesome.”
She shrugs, even as the edges of her mouth curve upward.
I take a moment to consider Hannah’s obliviousness.
Does she really think people don’t like her? How could she not see the clear interest that guy has for her? Is this a common thing?
What if she’s never picked up on romantic signals before?
“So, last night was the first time you ever had a beer, right?” I ask aloud.
“Yeah.” She watches my face, as if trying to figure out where my random question came from, while I’m searching for a way to broach the idea that just popped into my mind.
“Was that the only first you had last night?”
Hannah chews on the corner of her bottom lip. “Are you talking about Mario Kart? Because it’s been a while, but I’ve definitely played before.”
“No. That’s not what I mean.” I keep my eyes focused on hers, willing her to understand my question. But my staring only makes her huff out a dramatic breath.
“If you’re trying to ask me something, just do it. I’m not sure I have the energy to figure out how your mind works.” She presses the coffee cup to her mouth again.
My thumb traces over the thin blue veins in her wrist, and my gaze locks on the movement, as I suddenly find it hard to meet her eyes. “Was I your first kiss?”
Her snort answers me before her words do. “What? No. How inexperienced do you think I am?”
“Well, you can’t seem to tell when a guy likes you, so I just wondered …” I trail off.
Hannah rolls her eyes and shakes her head, all at once, my idiocy too much for her to handle. “Sorry to burst your bubble, Lucifer, but I’ve kissed guys before. Had a boyfriend for the last few years of high school. We even”—she leans in close, whispering to me in a hushed voice—“had sex!”
Hannah sits up and dramatically glances around us, as if worried about being overheard. All clearly an act to make me feel even more ridiculous.
Which I do. But only a little bit.
Some guys get off on the idea of deflowering a virgin. They see it as a manly power thing. I’ve got nothing against virgins, but I find it’s easier to figure out what a girl wants in bed if she’s spent some time figuring it out herself.
“Sorry. I’m an idiot. You are super experienced. A master of the bedroom.”
I expect her to come back with something equally silly or at least share a grin with me. Instead, the humor trickles out of Hannah’s soft brown eyes, leaving her looking embarrassed. When she drinks from her cup this time, I would bet good money it’s to avoid looking at me.
“Hey, Shorty? What’s up?”
Instead of answering, she tries to pull her hand out of mine, but I’m not ready to let her go. When she gives up her tugging, I lift her palm to my mouth, so I can kiss the meaty part at the base of her thumb.
That earns me a twitch of her lips, but she still keeps her eyes to herself.
“Come on. Tell me.”
“It’s embarrassing,” she mutters, barely loud enough for me to hear.
“More embarrassing than my terrible tan lines?” I make sure to affect a horrified expression.
Hannah finally looks up and actually giggles when she sees my face. The smile doesn’t stick around though. Keeping her gaze on our clasped hands, she leans closer.
“I’m bad at sex.”