Page 5 of Chaos at Westbrook High

“No, I don’t,” she grits out, losing patience.

“Baby girl, I can stand here and do this with you all day.” I grin and link my fingers together, content to do just that.

She looks down at the ink on my hands, mainly the black and white skull covering the right one, and I wonder if she’s thinking about touching it like I touched hers.

Probably not.

Side-eyeing the long line of people behind me, she snatches a couple to-go cups from the stack. We were planning on getting a table, but it seems she wants us gone, and she’s not being very subtle about it.

Too fucking bad.

She writes Callie’s name on the first cup—if she remembers her order, it’s no surprise she remembers her name—and then she looks up at Wren, hesitating with her black marker hovering over the cup.

“Don’t act like you don’t know it,” I tease.

Her nostrils flare as she writes his name on the sleeve.

“You’re pretty when you’re angry,” I say, but she doesn’t even blink, the stubborn little thing.

After writing my name on a plastic cup, she taps a few buttons on her little screen and shoves my cash into the register. Refusing to touch me, she sets my change down on the counter and starts making our drinks. I leave the change where it is but pick up the receipt, hoping her name is printed on it somewhere. It’s not.

Still leaning on the surface separating us, I watch while she does her thing at the coffee machine, mesmerized by her every move. If she’s nervous, she doesn’t show it. She’s confident as hell, and she seems to have ditched her efforts to not let me see her body. Maybe she doesn’t give a shit if I look or not, or maybe she just wants me out of here as quickly as possible. I can’t get a good read on her, but she’s got me hooked all the same. Because other than Callie, I can’t remember the last time a girl didn’t fall over backwards to earn even a fraction of the attention I’m giving her.

Once she’s done, she grabs Damon’s water and passes everything over, setting my drink down on the counter in front of me, once again not letting my hand get within a foot of hers.

“What is it?” I ask, studying the light brown sauce dripping over the insides of the cup and the heap of whipped cream on top.

“An iced caramel latte with whipped cream and caramel sauce,” she mutters as she cleans the spot I was just leaning on.

I resist the urge to laugh at her audacity.

“You have a sweet tooth?” I ask, desperate to know something about her.

“You wanted what I like. Take it or leave it.”

Hiding a smile, I wrap my lips around the straw and take a sip. It’s the best coffee I’ve ever tasted.

She gestures to the change on the counter with an impatient flick of her hand, and I shake my head. “Keep it.”

She frowns and looks at me like I’m stupid. “That’s almost a fifty percent tip.”

“I know.”

“Wait, I don’t?—”

“I said keep it.” Holding her gaze, I scoop up some of the cream with my finger and suck it off. “Later, coffee girl.”

She frowns again, and I back away before I do what I’m imagining doing in my head, which is walking around the counter, grabbing her by the waist, and giving in to the urge to find out if she tastes as good as she looks. I can’t do that. She looks like she’d kick me in the dick the second I put hands on her.

It’d probably be worth it though…

I shake that off and fall in line beside my family, ignoring the curious looks they’re giving me while I drop my ass down on the black couch in the corner. I was wrong. It’s not uncomfortable at all.

Wren takes the seat beside me, Callie takes the seat on my other side, and Damon takes the end seat next to her, scowling in the direction of the counter. He doesn’t like the coffee girl, but I’m not surprised. The guy doesn’t like anyone.

I sip my delicious drink while Callie pulls out the book she grabbed from the penthouse before we left. She flips it open to the bookmarked page and leans back into the crook of Damon’s arm, her coffee in her free hand, her legs thrown over his thighs. Damon feeds her a bite of her croissant. I twist my lips from side to side. Anxiously bouncing my leg, I manage to stay quiet for all of thirty seconds.

“What’s her name?”

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