Allyson In Between ✔︎

Chapter Twenty

| photo by Gabe Pierce from Unsplash |

I'm not the biggest fan of coffee, but I love the way it smells. And I'm tempted to order something hot because my clothes are damp from the sprint across the parking lot and the air conditioning in this place is blasting.

It doesn't help that every time I think about kissing Noah—which is every five seconds—I break out in full-body goose bumps. He gives me a crooked smile now—amused, apparently, by my indecision. He orders sweet tea from the guy in the green apron, then turns to me and says, "They have a frozen drink here that's basically a milkshake. Vanilla?"

"Um, sure. Thanks." He pays with a twenty. Which reminds me. "I have money," I say, digging into my purse.

"Hold on to it," he says, ramping up the wattage of that smile. "I'll let you buy me dinner."

The green-apron guy gives him change, and a warm smile when he drops two dollars into the tip jar. Then Noah's arm bumps into mine and there's that zing again. His eyes say he feels it too. He rotates his hand, folds his fingers between mine and my face ignites because I'm zinging all over now—in a coffee shop full of people.

We head to the front of the narrow building. The only empty table is tiny and round, barely big enough for two. It's going to be a tight squeeze when Samatha Zhao gets here.

Ugh. My stomach goes a bit sour, because there's a very good chance that this fact-finding mission is going to change the way Noah feels about me.

A huge part of me wants to keep walking—to leave with Noah and never talk to or even think about Samantha again. But I refuse to give in to that temptation. I can't. I have to find out what's bothering Lindsay.

Noah squeezes my hand and lifts his chin, just as the metal bell clangs against the entrance door. I recognize Samantha immediately—from all the pictures in the yearbook, and on my phone—but right now, she looks a lot like she did in the photo that was left face down on my bookshelf: her long black hair is unbound, straight and glossy, and her cheeks are pink from the sun. The only thing missing is the sweet smile. Which is kind of a relief. Her almost-frown is an honest response to an uncomfortable situation. And honesty is the thing I need most from her.

She stops ten feet away from us and her dark eyes flare. They dart from me to Noah and back again—and then down. To our joined hands? She takes an exaggerated breath before she continues, closing the gap to normal greeting range. But there's nothing normal about the way she looks at my chest. It's seems intentional, like communication. Like she wants me to do the same. So I do and...oh...god...

Oh, god!

I cross my arms, panicked, because my pale yellow shirt is transparent. And so is my lace bra.

"Ally and I need a girl moment," she says. Her voice is authoritative and calm. So when she drapes her arm around my shoulders, I let her lead me to the back corner of the coffee shop.

To a bathroom that's just one open room with a toilet and a sink.

"We should switch bras," she says, hooking her pink polka dot umbrella on the locked door. "Mine is padded, but I don't need it because my headlights don't get as shiny as yours." She makes a hand gesture, drawing air-circles in front of her boobs and my face goes from flush to flaming. But Samantha doesn't seem to notice. She whips off her gauzy top and says, "Give me your shirt," before she bites the hem of her own shirt, letting it hang from her teeth while she reaches around to unhook her bra.

I close my eyes, turning to face the wall before she flashes me.

"Oh wow. Sorry. I got so caught up in the rescue, I forgot that you..." She doesn't finish the sentence. But her padded bra appears, draped over my shoulder.