Page 15 of Latte Girl
Cupcake
Hailey
Iresignmyself to another bus ride spent standing as I once more climb aboard the 106. Today will be my first day catering a Knox Security meeting after my run in with Jordan at DarkBrown.
He hasn’t been to the cafe since. I’ve tried to convince myself to go back to my imaginary fantasy man, but every time I conjure up an image of an attractive guy, it just ends up being him. I keep going over the moment I crawled out from under his desk to find my mouth just inches away from his zipper, imagining the scene taking a very different turn than it did. I may have even and gotten a bit creative with the showerhead this morning while thinkingaboutit.
Lately my sex life has been limited to the covert sort of self-induced orgasms that living in close quarters with your mom and kid sister necessitates. I can’t even buy myself a vibrator because there’s no way they wouldn’t hear it, and while I know I should be grateful for even having a place to live at all, I’m so sick of having to muffle my moans against apillow.
I’ve only ever had one serious relationship. His name was Steve. Our lockers were next to each other in the tenth grade, and we dated for the last two years of high school before breaking up a few months after he started university. He didn’t even leave the city, but once I was working full time our schedules hardly ever lined up and we both agreed it was forthebest.
I had sex for the first time in his dorm room bed, as we hurried to get it over with before his roommate came back from class. It felt like learning to speak a new language, a jumble of confused adjectives and verbs. We only did it a handful of times after that, just enough to get over the floundering nervousness of it all and leave me craving all the things we nevertried.
The bus pulls up at my stop and I navigate my way between the swaying bodies filling the aisle before heading into Dark Brown. I’m prepping the Catering Mobile myself today, and get to work packing up everything on the list I’ve beengiven.
Things are a bit slow this morning and Trisha, who’s on cash today, is using a few spare minutes to drop off a load of cups and saucers in thedishpit.
“You’re so lucky,” she says, glancing over at me as I pack up the cart. “You actually get to leave this place forabit.”
“I’ll bring back tales of the outside world,”Ijoke.
“You could bring back some outside men.” She dabs at her forehead with her apron. “The regulars are starting to drive me crazy. They stare at us like we’re some kind of...cupcakes!”
I laugh and nod at how truethatis.
“They’re just drawn to the fact that there’s still a spark of joy left in you, Trisha. You haven’t been here long enough for this place to crush your spirit. Oh and trust me, the men in the Knox building aren’t any better. I’m a cupcake overtheretoo.”
We share the desperate and verging on hysterical sort of laugh that only two coworkers at a terrible job can share. Trisha returns to the cash after and I wheel myself out the back door and over to the Knoxbuilding.
The event I’m catering today is much smaller than the first one. I set up in a windowless meeting room with a large projector screen. I only have one coffee dispenser and a tray of muffins to arrange, so I finish well before the meeting is due tostart.
I leave to find the bathroom. After a bit of wandering up and down the hall, I spot one and step inside. The three stalls are all empty, and as I’m washing my hands, I take a minute to stare at myself in themirror.
There are purple rings under my eyes, and my skin is sun deprived enough to be almost as pale as my blouse. While I did take the time to fluff the front of my hair up into a little pouffe and avoid the strawberry blonde skullcap effect, there is not enough dry shampoo in the world to disguise the fact that that it’s sorely in need of a wash. Mom’s been working even crazier shifts than usual this week, and looking after my appearance has taken a backseat to looking afterAmanda.
After giving my cheeks a few pinches to try to draw some sort of colour into them, I open the bathroom door to find Jordan Knox exiting the men’s roomnextdoor.
As I’ve come to expect around him, my breath swoops out of me and blood starts rushing to my face. Suddenly I’m wishing my cheeks werelessred.
My initial impulse is to run and find somewhere to hide where I can creepily stare at him from a distance, but seeing as following my instincts last time ended with me crouched under his desk, I take a second to employ an underdeveloped skill of mine: beinglogical.
He’s turned away without seeing me. I could let him keep walking down the hall. Putting the moves on the heir apparent to the company I’m giving a professional service to does not sound like a good idea when rationallyconsidered.
There’s a few services I’d like to give HIM, I think, staring after Jordan as he getsfartheraway.
Just like that, caution, and logic along with it, is thrown tothewind.
“Hey stalker,” I callafterhim.
He turns around, and the crooked smile that forms when he sees me makes me realize that sometimes it feels good to be stared at like a cupcake, especially when it’s a verytastyone.
He walks back towards me. “This feels a bit more like youstalkingme.”
“That’s what a really good stalker would want me to think,” I counter, while asking myself why I have to be suchadork.
He smiles again and scratches the back of his head, then leans his elbow against the wall. I feel like I’m staring at an Armani ad. “Alright, you’ve got me. I’m a serialstalker.”
Then his stomach growls so loud Ialmostjump.
