Page 51 of Glass Half Full
“You totally just smelled my hair.”
“It smells really good!” he protests, his hands still pressed against my lower back. “And it’s right in my face! I can’t not smell it.”
“Yeah, but you like, savoured it.”
He steps back from the hug. “I didnotsavour it. That would be creepy. I’m not a creep, Renee.”
“I don’t know about that. It was pretty damn creepy.”
“Liar.” He smacks my butt and pulls me into him again. “You loved it.”
He only meant to joke around, but the result is an entirely different kind of teasing. Other than in the alleyway, that’s the first time his hand has touched my ass. It’s the first time he’s eversmackedmy ass, and it sends a tremor of desire through me I’m sure I don’t manage to hide.
“We should, uh, go inside. The rain, you know.” Dylan’s voice has gone hoarse, his hands frozen on my waist like he doesn’t trust himself to move them anywhere else.
“Mhmm. Yeah. Let’s go inside.”
I pull myself off him and do my best not to look like a woman desperate to be ravished by the man behind her as I lead the way into the cafe. I’m still hyperaware of the foot of space that separates us as we stand in line behind a little old French lady who takes about seven years to order a coffee. Every inch of distance between his body and mine feels like too much and not enough all at once. I don’t think I could handle being any closer, but all I want is for him to step up and claim my space as his own.
“Madame? Excusez-moi?”
It takes me a second to register that the cashier is talking to me. That’s quickly followed by the realization that Dylan is not so subtly laughing at me. Clearly the cashier has had to repeat herself a few times.
“Unchai latte,s’il vous plait,” I answer in the mix of French and English—Franglais, as it’s called—that might as well be Montreal’s official language.
Dylan orders his Americano and clinks his paper cup against mine as we make our way over to the corner table. I take it as a sign of good luck that it’s empty; it’s my favourite seat in the place, but it’s rare to find it unoccupied.
“Aren’t we predictable?” he jokes about our drink order.
“I really liked this last time,” I defend myself. “My best friend definitely would have gone for the pumpkin spice. She is all about the Starbz.”
“Starbz?” Dylan repeats. “Does she really call it Starbz?”
“She’s the only person I’ve ever met who says that without a trace of irony.”
Dylan takes a sip of his drink before setting it down and fixing up the pillows behind him on the bench. “Tell me more about her.”
“You might remember her. She used to go to the workshops. Her name is Tahseen.”
His eyes light up with recognition. “No shit? You’re still friends with Tahseen? She’s an incredible poet. I haven’t seen her at a slam in a while, but she always crushes it.”
“Yeah, she’s amazing. She’s been pretty bogged down with school for a while, so poetry has taken a back seat. She misses it.”
“She’s at McGill?”
I nod. “She’s hoping to go into law.”
“She’d make an excellent lawyer. I wouldn’t argue with that girl.”
“Oh trust me, she’s very difficult to argue with, and she loves making a point.”
“What about you?” he asks.
I squint at him. “Do I like making a point?”
“No.” He chuckles. “I meant are you still writing, or did poetry...take a back seat?”
I contemplate the foam in my cup. “I guess you could say that.”
