Read Online The Right and the Real by Joelle Anthony - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Joelle Anthony
Ads: Link
way to the counter, past businesspeople in ties, teens with backpacks, and college students dressed in black, who congregated on soft couches, eating, drinking, and flirting. There wasn’t anyone working behind the counter, and I stood there, waiting. After about five minutes, I decided to go somewhere else, but then the swinging door to the back opened a couple of inches and a voice yelled out, “Trent! I thought you were watching for customers.”
A guy who was sitting on one of the couches behind me yelled, “Sorry. I got it.”
He ran across the room and leapfrogged the counter so he was facing me. He brushed floppy brown hair out of his eyes and smiled at me so intensely it was like I was the only person in the room. For some odd reason, instead of it being creepy, I got a rush from it. And then I blushed.
“What can I get you?” he asked.
“Ummm…”
I must’ve looked a little doubtful or confused, because he said, “It’s okay. I work here. I mean, I’m not working now, but I can make you a drink.” He nodded toward the swinging door. “Girl trouble, so I’m covering.”
“Oh. Okay. I’ll have a mocha.” But then I remembered I needed to watch my money. “Actually, make that a regular coffee with room for cream.”
I waited while he got it for me, and even though it took forever, I was so distracted by the fact I had nowhere to sleep, I didn’t even notice he had made me a mocha until he asked if I wanted chocolate sprinkles.
“Ummm,” I said, “I ordered a coffee.”
“But you
wanted
a mocha.” He squirted a huge mound of whipped cream on top, and it wobbled as he handed it to me. “Free upgrade for having to wait.”
It honestly made me want to cry, which I knew was not the reaction he was hoping for. “Wow. Thanks.”
“Anytime. Well, not actually anytime,” he said, “because I can’t give away free drinks for no reason, but you know, if you have to wait or you’re unhappy with the service or—” I started laughing even though my insides ached. He smiled back. “Anyway…”
One of his bottom teeth was just the tiniest bit crooked, and I wondered what it might feel like to touch it with my tongue. Like if we were kissing. God! What was wrong with me? Clearly I was losing my mind.
Hello, Jamie! Remember Josh?
I couldn’t believe I’d even thought that.
“Okay, well, thanks,” I said, moving away to check out the crowded bulletin boards before he noticed I was blushing again.
“See you around,” he said.
“Thanks again,” I said, heading over to the bulletin board.
Yesterday, I’d read the ads in three newspapers looking for apartments, but found out everyone charged thirty-five dollars just for the credit check. Plus you had to be eighteen, with a job and a security deposit. I wouldn’t be eighteen until April, and I barely had enough for one month, let alone two. I scanned a bunch of handwritten ads for rooms to rent and tried not to think about the fact that the cute coffee guy was wearing an NYU sweatshirt. Did he love New York too?
I shook off thoughts of him and used a pay phone by the bathroom to call on a couple of listings. The first turned out to be all the way across town and too expensive anyway. The woman who answered at the second number said I had to be at least twenty-one because if the police found minors drinking in their house again, they were “soooo busted.” I promised I wouldn’t drink, but she blew me off.
After that, I sat on one of the couches making a list of what I might be able to sell for cash. I never wore jewelry because of dance class, so I didn’t have any of that. And my dad had kept the computer, which was a two-year-old desktop anyway, so it wouldn’t have been worth anything. So far, all I had on my list was my autographed photo of Laurence Olivier, which Grandpa had given me for my fourteenth birthday. It was a rare picture and worth a lot, maybe as much as six or seven hundred dollars, but I’d never sell it.
A guy who was sitting on one of the couches behind me yelled, “Sorry. I got it.”
He ran across the room and leapfrogged the counter so he was facing me. He brushed floppy brown hair out of his eyes and smiled at me so intensely it was like I was the only person in the room. For some odd reason, instead of it being creepy, I got a rush from it. And then I blushed.
“What can I get you?” he asked.
“Ummm…”
I must’ve looked a little doubtful or confused, because he said, “It’s okay. I work here. I mean, I’m not working now, but I can make you a drink.” He nodded toward the swinging door. “Girl trouble, so I’m covering.”
“Oh. Okay. I’ll have a mocha.” But then I remembered I needed to watch my money. “Actually, make that a regular coffee with room for cream.”
I waited while he got it for me, and even though it took forever, I was so distracted by the fact I had nowhere to sleep, I didn’t even notice he had made me a mocha until he asked if I wanted chocolate sprinkles.
“Ummm,” I said, “I ordered a coffee.”
“But you
wanted
a mocha.” He squirted a huge mound of whipped cream on top, and it wobbled as he handed it to me. “Free upgrade for having to wait.”
It honestly made me want to cry, which I knew was not the reaction he was hoping for. “Wow. Thanks.”
“Anytime. Well, not actually anytime,” he said, “because I can’t give away free drinks for no reason, but you know, if you have to wait or you’re unhappy with the service or—” I started laughing even though my insides ached. He smiled back. “Anyway…”
One of his bottom teeth was just the tiniest bit crooked, and I wondered what it might feel like to touch it with my tongue. Like if we were kissing. God! What was wrong with me? Clearly I was losing my mind.
Hello, Jamie! Remember Josh?
I couldn’t believe I’d even thought that.
“Okay, well, thanks,” I said, moving away to check out the crowded bulletin boards before he noticed I was blushing again.
“See you around,” he said.
“Thanks again,” I said, heading over to the bulletin board.
Yesterday, I’d read the ads in three newspapers looking for apartments, but found out everyone charged thirty-five dollars just for the credit check. Plus you had to be eighteen, with a job and a security deposit. I wouldn’t be eighteen until April, and I barely had enough for one month, let alone two. I scanned a bunch of handwritten ads for rooms to rent and tried not to think about the fact that the cute coffee guy was wearing an NYU sweatshirt. Did he love New York too?
I shook off thoughts of him and used a pay phone by the bathroom to call on a couple of listings. The first turned out to be all the way across town and too expensive anyway. The woman who answered at the second number said I had to be at least twenty-one because if the police found minors drinking in their house again, they were “soooo busted.” I promised I wouldn’t drink, but she blew me off.
After that, I sat on one of the couches making a list of what I might be able to sell for cash. I never wore jewelry because of dance class, so I didn’t have any of that. And my dad had kept the computer, which was a two-year-old desktop anyway, so it wouldn’t have been worth anything. So far, all I had on my list was my autographed photo of Laurence Olivier, which Grandpa had given me for my fourteenth birthday. It was a rare picture and worth a lot, maybe as much as six or seven hundred dollars, but I’d never sell it.
Similar Books
