Page 52 of Latte Girl
I’m halfway through my sandwich when another textpopsup.
Can you give me a few minutes? I need toseeyou.
Well this is a refreshing change. I send anansweroff.
When you put it like that...meet me out back of the cafe at3:15.
I start humming to myself as I finish the rest of my sandwich, buzzing like the sign overmyhead.
The end of the day can’t come fast enough, and so of course the rest of my shift drags along so slowly I can count every drop of coffee coming out of the espresso machine. Finally, Lisa tells me I’m good to clock out. I’ve told Brittney about Jordan’s text, and she flashes me a suggestive smile as I gather my things and head out thebackdoor.
He’s already waiting, leaning up against the wall, and any plans I may have had to play it cool are wiped from my brain the moment I see him standing there. All the knots in me untangle themselves as he reaches out to wrap his armsaroundme.
“You really are such astalk—”
I haven’t even finished my sentence when his lips meet with mine. At first I jerk my head back, startled, but he presses his mouth even harder against me and I let myself fall into the kiss, our mouths moving to the rhythm of a language only the two ofusknow.
I stretch my arms up to put them around his neck, and he slips his hands inside my open jacket, grasping me around the waist and drawing my body closer to his. There’s a heat growing between my legs already, and I thread my hands into his hair as he reaches down to grab my ass. I move my lips to his neck, needing to taste moreofhim.
“Hailey,” he breathes, “I have to see youagain.”
“Want to see me now?” I ask, my mouth still brushing against his skin. I lower my arms to take his hands in mine and start moving them up to mychest.
He exhales and closes his eyes for a moment before focusing themonme.
“I have to tell yousomething.”
His tone jolts through me like a wrong note at a piano recital. I drop my handsfromhis.
“Whatisit?”
“It’s about...my dad.” He drops his arms to his side and glances away. “Andmymom.”
His voice is hollow, defeated. He looks off into the distance, as if staring after a lifeboat that’s alreadyslippedaway.
“Jordan, areyouokay?”
He focuses back on me, but his eyes still have the hopeless expression of someone who’s consigned themselves to drowning. Whatever he sees in my face, it isn’t enough to pull him back above thesurface.
“I have to see you again,” he repeats, ignoring my question. “We need to talk, somewhere thatisn’there.”
“Of course,” I respond. I try not to sound panicked. “Did something badhappen?”
“No, it’s not likethat.I’m—”
He bites back whatever word he’s about to say next. I reach out for him, placing my hands on his shoulders and moving close enough that I can see myself reflected in his eyes. Helooksaway.
“You deserve so much better than me.” His voice is bitter, edged with caustic regret. Alarm bells start going off in my head. He still won’t lookatme.
“Jordan, what’s going on?” I place a hand on his cheek and turn his face towards mine. “Please.Tellme.”
He answers my question with one of his own. “Do you still trust me? Therealme?”
I feel like he’s blindfolded me and spun me around before asking me to reach out andfindhim.
“I want to,” I admit. “I want totrustyou.”
“Well that’s something,” he whispers, more to himself thantome.
