Read Online Even the Moon Has Scars by Steph Campbell - Free Book Online

smell that was competing with the scent of something like motor oil.
    I’ve turned into a total psychopath in the last couple of hours as well, apparently.
    “I really am sorry about that, I went upstairs...and I came back down and the door was half open—”
    I shake my head and beg my cheeks not to light fire again. “It’s fine, really, don’t worry about it.”
    I hold up the shorts I’d been wearing along with my Dad’s cardigan. I’ve now got Gabe’s soft sweater and a new jacket and jeans from his mother’s closet to keep me warm. Every part of me, from the clothes I’m wearing to the feelings swirling around inside me feels foreign.
    Unrecognizable. Completely, and utterly exciting.
    “Do you mind if I leave these behind?”
    “Sure thing,” Gabe says. “I’ll run them up to my room.”
     
    ***
    “How do you take your coffee?” Gabe asks as we step up to the cart. We’ve stopped at a tiny coffee cart a couple of streets down from the building he lives in. Or lived in.
    “Do they have decaf?” I ask.
    “Ah, come on, you worried about sleeping already?” he throws his head back feigning disapproval and snickers. “Light weight.”
    “No, I just avoid caffeine.”
    “Right,” he nods his head slowly. “What else do you avoid?”
    “My sister,” I say, and watch as Gabe flashes a grin. “House keys, obviously.”
    “Obviously,” We both step forward in the line when it moves. Then he adds, “Proper winter attire.”
    “Guys who think they’re funnier than they actually are,” I say. I poke him in the ribs, and I like that he doesn’t flinch away from my touch.
    “How about you, what do you avoid?” I ask. So far, Gabe hasn’t given much of anything about himself away this evening.
    “Decaf.” He says very seriously. The line moves up again. We’re next. “Other than that, I’m up for anything.”
    “Ah, so all of this is just an average night in the life of Gabe Martinez?”
    The couple in front of us steps aside and Gabe and I walk up to the coffee stand. I have to perch on my tip toes to see over the counter of it.
    “One decaf, one regular,” Gabe says to the man working.
    “Actually, I’ll take a regular as well,” I say.
    “Living on the edge tonight, Lena. I like it,” he says with a wink.
     
    We take our cups and I swirl a generous amount of cream and sugar into the steaming coffee before snapping the plastic lid back on. The piping hot paper cup feels amazing in my icy palms. I should have brought gloves. Or, you know, my own pants.
    “Where to?” I ask. I blow into the tiny opening of my lid, trying to cool the liquid down enough so I can take a sip.
    “Anywhere you want. The city is ours,” Gabe says.
    Everything about my life up to this point has been so closely monitored and controlled. Just standing on the pavement with a cup of non-decaf coffee in my hand feels like a complete and total act of defiance.
    He slides his phone out of his pocket. “Well, at least for the next two hours. Then we’ve got to get back to check on that damn part.”
    Gabe opens his mouth and for a second I think he’s going to say, “screw the part, let’s see everything!” but he clamps it shut again.
    I realize it’s because the phone in his hand is now illuminated. Ringing. Again.
    “You want to take that this time?” I ask.
    “Just—” He holds up one finger and says, “Just give me one second.”
    “Sure,” I mutter, but he’s already turned his back and taken a few steps away.
    I walk over to a small bench and test a few scalding sips of my coffee while I wait. It instantly makes me feel warm, and I’m appreciative of that, but it’s so hot that it leaves my tongue feeling rough like a cat’s. Plus, even with the heaps of sugar, it’s still bitter.
    A few feet away, Gabe is pacing back and forth while he talks on the phone.
    It’s weird sitting back and really looking at someone for the first time. I’ve only known Gabe for a couple of hours, so I