Page 30 of Uncovered
“I’ll have a Sam Adams,” I tell Scotty, the bartender at Wolfie’s, as I slide onto the stool next to Whit.
“Everything ok?”
“Yea. But tutoring Phoebe James just might kill me.”
“That bad? I thought you loved sitting around talking about symbolism and semicolons?”
I roll my eyes. “Yea, it’s all fun and games until my hands actually itch to reach out to her. Jesus. I’m losing my damn mind, Whit.”
“No, you’re not. You’re falling ass over teakettle. Face it. You want this girl. And you can’t have her. And that is driving you nuts. Trust me, I know the feeling.”
“It sucks. And it’s turning me into an asshole. I know I’m not Mr. Personality most of the time, but when Phoebe’s around, it’s a million times worse. It’s like my default is set to dickhead just to keep myself from reaching across the desk and throwing her over my shoulder like some caveman.”
Scotty brings our drinks and I take a long sip. “Seriously, man. I don’t know how much longer I can deal with this. It’s turning me inside out.”
Whit just laughs. It’s clear he has no sympathy for my predicament. “Welcome to the club, asshole. The woman of my dreams is about to become my stepsister. Talk about out of reach.”
“Damn. So your mom’s really going through with this? Marrying Lucy’s dad?”
“Yep. We fly out to St. Martin the day before Thanksgiving and return to the states five days later as one big happy family.”
I take another pull of my beer. “That’s rough.”
As if by tacit agreement, we drop our depressing conversation and turn our attention to the baseball game on the screen above the bar. I’m not even sure who’s playing, I just know I need to get out of my own head for a while. I need to think of something other than Phoebe--her laughter, her smiles. I love the way she doesn’t take my shit. I love the way her brow crinkles when she’s trying to figure something out. For a woman I have no business wanting, she’s taking up a whole lot of real estate in my mind.
***
Phoebe
The coffee shop is crowded with the midday rush, but I managed to snag a seat at the counter. Mel hands me a macchiato in a to-go cup. “Ian’s going to the club tonight with He Who Shall Not Be Named, so I thought we’d have a movie night. You in?”
“Ian’s dating Voldemort?” I ask.
“Basically.”
“Oh, my god, Mel, stop saying that. You know he hates the d-word.”
Mel throws a dubious look in Ian’s direction. “Uh, I’m 100% sure that boy loves the d-word, literally and figuratively.”
Ian just rolls his eyes. “Not that d-word. D as in ‘dating.’ Pressure to commit stresses him out. What if he comes in and hears you?” Ian bustles around behind the counter.
She waves him off. “He’s not coming in here. He’d never be caught in a place so pedestrian as a coffee shop. He probably sources his own coffee beans. Or who knows? Maybe Christian only drinks water. Anything else would be impure.” She rolls her eyes.
“Wow. I’m picking up the vibe that you don’t really like this guy.”
Mel leans forward. “I fucking hate him and someday, when my dreams come true, I’ll cut his dick off and feed it to him. He strings Ian along and then dumps his ass. It takes me months to put him back together, always just in time for Christian to waltz right back in. Ugh.”
I take another sip of my drink. “Ok, I’m with you. That guy sounds like a tool. But movie night sounds perfect. I need to get you hooked on John Hughes. You’re going to love everything he’s ever made.”
“Sounds good, girlie. See you tonight.”
She waves me off as I grab my cup, but then turn back around. “You know what? Can I get another coffee? Just a… hmmm…”
“Let me guess, an Americano, no foam?” Ian smiles as he pours another drink.
“Um...yea...that sounds perfect.”
“Are you in dire need of caffeine or is this, perhaps, a gift?” Ian asks as I swipe my card.
