Page 9 of King

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.

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